Haunted
by Lady Macbeth 1755
Summary: AU: Remy Lebeau is a wealthy Creole landowner and notorious bachelor in the early XIX century New Orleans, but the brilliant gentleman has a secret... Thanks to Bastet for beta ing it STORY ON HOLD UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
1. Chapter 1

All the poems featured in this fic are extracts of "Les Fleurs du Mal" ("The Flowers of Evil") By Charles Baudelaire, translated into English by William Aggeler, except for "À une Madonne", which was translated by Roy Campbell.

Haunted **Chapter I**

_**Le Revenant**_

_Comme les anges à l'oeil fauve,  
Je reviendrai dans ton alcôve  
Et vers toi glisserai sans bruit  
Avec les ombres de la nuit;_

_Et je te donnerai, ma brune,  
Des baisers froids comme la lune  
Et des caresses de serpent  
Autour d'une fosse rampant._

_Quand viendra le matin livide,  
Tu trouveras ma place vide,  
Où jusqu'au soir il fera froid._

_Comme d'autres par la tendresse,  
Sur ta vie et sur ta jeunesse,  
Moi, je veux régner par l'effroi._

_**The Ghost**_

_Like angels with wild beast's eyes  
I shall return to your bedroom  
And silently glide toward you  
With the shadows of the night;_

_And, dark beauty, I shall give you  
Kisses cold as the moon  
And the caresses of a snake  
That crawls around a grave_.

_When the livid morning comes,  
You'll find my place empty,  
And it will be cold there till night._

_I wish to hold sway over  
Your life and youth by fear,  
As others do by tenderness._

New Orleans, 1839 

A sharp shriek echoed on the walls of the second floor of the French-quartier mansion, as a shadow made its way down the stairs in frenzied panic. A young black woman stormed into the Louis XV style living room, desperately looking for her way out of the building. Before she could reach the entrance hall, though, a tall figure blocked her way, making her fall back on the carpet.

-Where are you going, chère?

-Sir, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't mean to…I didn't know I…I…-The woman sobbed hysterically, her face covered in tears…

-You didn't mean, but you did it…-The white good-looking man said in an almost sweet tone, like he was chiding a little child.

-Please, let me go I won't tell anyone! Just let me go!

-Marie, Marie…What am I going to do with you? -He said shaking his head, his voice filled with a hint of sadness-How many times did I tell you: "Do not go into my room, Marie…Whatever you do, never go to my room, unless I tell you to"…If only you were obedient, Marie…But you had to go. You had to disobey me…

-I'm sorry, I'm sorry-the woman repeated pathetically- I didn't mean…is just…I heard the screams and…

-YOU HEARD NOTHING, WOMAN!!!-The man shouted losing his temper once and for all. He grabbed her arm and jerked her off the floor, almost breaking the bone in the process. -You heard nothing…-he repeated so close to her face she could feel the strangely metallic smell of his breath…

-I didn't sir…Just, please: let me go…Please.

-I can't.

-I won't tell, I swear…

-You know Marie, this is all your fault…All the servants I had before never disobeyed me…The maid who preceded you, she died eighty-eight years old, from natural causes and she had a good life…But you had to break the rules…You could have lived peacefully here for the rest of your life, but now…Now you won't, and it's all your fault…

-Please…-The young woman cried frantically, dropping to her knees and holding onto his legs, pitifully begging for mercy. He pulled her back on her feet and violently pushed her onto the couch. As she sobbed hopelessly, he preyed upon her with eagle-like movements. The sobs mingled with muffled screams as she desperately struggled to get free.

Then there was silence.

- A new maid? What about Marie? -The valet asked.

-Marie is not here anymore…I decided it was probably for the best to send her off to the farmhouse -Remy replied with somber eyes

-I see…-The valet answered, with little surprise. He knew Marie had had a hard time adapting to the house, probably she would be better off serving the foreman and his wife in the farmhouse.

-Now, Etienne, I want you to find a replacement for Marie as soon as you can…

-Yes, sir.

Making his way out the studio, Etienne wondered how he could find another servant in this town that would please his master. The Lebeau household worked in a very different way than the others in the French quarter; it only had two servants at the time, as opposed to the armies of slaves most wealthy families kept to their convenience: Etienne himself, and a maid in charge of daily errands. And since Lebeau spent most of his day locked in his room, and most of his nights out, the daily errands weren't really in number to require more than one maid. If, eventually, in special occasions, the work required more hands, he would just send for the farm servants to help and dispatch them back as soon as they weren't needed anymore. But that almost never happened.

As for the rest of the slaves his master had inherited from his wealthy father, they were all in the plantations Lebeau owned down state. For some reason Remy rarely ever stepped a foot in there, leaving it completely to the care of a foreman, who had worked for the family since the days of Jean Luc Lebeau. After Jean Luc´s death, the son had moved permanently to the city, after a short trip to France, and since then had kept the lonely and extravagant lifestyle of a bachelor.

To satisfy his master's demands, the servants had to be carefully chosen and until he found someone that completely fit Lebeau´s complicated demands, it was Etienne´s job to search the entire city and surroundings for the perfect servant. And something told the young man it would be even harder to find someone Lebeau would accept.

It had been over a week of search till the morning Etienne made his way towards the bayou side, with the morning newspaper under his arm. The DuPlessis widow had placed an ad on a local newspaper offering a young female slave at a reasonable price. Actually a derisive price considering the description in the ad: twenty years old, good-looking, a good cook, literate, good mannered, educated…one would wonder why she would be selling such a fine exemplar…

But if anyone asked any of the slaves in the DuPlessis household and farms around it, the answer would become quite clear. The particular young woman was actually Laurent DuPlessis´ love child, and that was far from being a secret. As a matter of fact the story had been told and retold numerous times up in the city and down at bayou, becoming almost a local legend to which everyone had a little something to add.

The generally accepted version told that, shortly after marrying Genevieve DuPlessis, Laurent DuPlessis had, supposedly, fallen madly in love with one of the slaves she had brought in with her with her dowry. It didn't take long before the servant winded up pregnant. During the one year that separated her arrival from the baby's birth, the young woman counted on the protection of her master from the horrid temper of Genevieve, until she mysteriously died.

Officially, she had died a couple of days after her baby girl was born, from labor complications, but word spread that Genevieve had actually killed the young woman, and only spared her child because her husband had walked on her as she tried to smother the little one with a pillow. The story spread so fast, that soon Madame DuPlessis became a local boogie-woman for the children of the slaves of all farms of the area. Being the rumors true or not, fact was that since the death of his lover, Laurent DuPlessis ignored his wife completely. They were never seen together in a ball, or at the church, and whenever he walked out of the farm he was alone

Genevieve could only visit her parents and go to church; etiquette would prevent her from any social life without the company of her husband, who seemingly would prefer any company other than hers. Some even dared to say that Laurent died without exchange more than three words with her, in thirty years of marriage - a childless marriage, for that matter- which only served to give the rumors even more fuel.

Therefore, the young Ororo was raised inside the house with all the pampering and education that Genevieve's children should have had, had she bore any… Genevieve tried to sell the child, or send her out to work in the fields numerous times, and every time she did so her husband became more and more irascible towards her until the day that he actually beat her because of his daughter. Etienne was just a kid when the rumor came all the a way up to town, whispered behind fans and handkerchiefs: people said that Madame DuPlessis had sent the girl to work in the kitchen when the master was out, and even dared to beat her a couple of times when she did something wrong in there. When Laurent came back looking for his daughter and found her in the kitchen, crying over a bubbly soup pot with a clear mark of a slap in her face he solved the situation by making his wife's white skin black and blue for a week.

Now, Etienne made his way slowly up the dirt road just considering how easy it would be to take the young woman from the farm. Probably the widow would just let her go with the first one interested. Not only would she get rid of the fruit of her husband's indiscretion, which cost her marital harmony as well as her social life, but also she would finally see her involuntary nemesis leave the property not taking anything from it to be someone's slave.

After crossing the fields of the DuPlessis property, Etienne stopped the carriage in front of the luxurious mansion and explained the reason of his visit to a young maid. Soon after the pompous figure of the house's mistress came out in the porch. For a moment, Etienne felt guilty for being the one indirectly helping that woman's revenge against an innocent, but he knew Laurent's daughter could face worse, way worse…

As he expected, the cruelly easy negotiation didn't take more than fifteen minutes…

It was dusk when Etienne knocked on his master's bedroom door.

-Yes?-Remy answered from his bed, as he watched the purple veil of night fall over the sky, and waited for the darkness to come down.

-Sir? It's me, Etienne.I brought the new maid. She's downstairs waiting for your instructions.

Remy closed his book and reached for his robe. Opening the door he found his valet waiting outside.

-Not a moment too soon…

- She came from the DuPlessis farm…-Etienne said handling the newspaper to Lebeau

-Don't tell me you bought DuPlessis bastard daughter? - Remy chuckled, reading the ad. Even he, uninterested as he was by the common life of the New Orleans citizens, knew the rumors surrounding the young woman. To think he would be the first one in town to lay eyes on her… Was interesting enough for a night that previously promised uneventful.

On the entrance hall he found his new servant, standing quiet. He stopped at the arch that separated the hall from the living room and examined her from head to toe at a safe distance. With some satisfaction he realized rumors about the DuPlessis´s lovechild's beauty were all true: the girl was gorgeous, a blue eyed and dark-skinned tall young woman, clad in a light green linen dress, her hair hidden by a dark-yellow turban. He gestured her to follow him to the living room, which she did, seemingly indifferent to the new environment.

She stood in the middle of the room, her head high like she had a need to impose respect by her silent attitude since all other kind of power was stripped away from her due to the circumstances. He sat on an armchair, studying her with interest made more vivid by her demure.

-So what's your name?

-Ororo. -She replied with calm countenance.

-That's unusual…who gave you that name?

-My mother…

-You're pretty…has anyone ever told you that?-He said with a wolfish grin gracing his lips.

-No.-she lied. Her father did say she was pretty, numerous times, but she wouldn't share that kind of information with him.

-But you are…those eyes. -He got up and held her chin, keeping her head up, examining her eyes like one would examine a piece of Sèvres porcelain-Where did you get a pair of eyes like this?

Ororo remained silent, disgusted by the fact that a man she never saw before could actually feel free to touch her as he pleased. She wasn't used to this kind of treatment, and didn't intend to become used to it.

-Cat got your tongue? I asked you a question, chère…

-My father…-She answered with bad-will

-I take that the rumors are truth…

Again, she didn't answer.

-I suppose the old witch couldn't stand the sight of you in the house, am I right?

-It's not in my place to make such assumptions …

-Guess you're right. –He stated amazed by how properly she expressed herself- But if you ask me I'll say you are better off here. I had the chance to meet the Genevieve DuPlessis before, and to be honest I wouldn't even want her as my acquaintance, let alone living with her…-He smiled in a oddly sympathetic way.

After a long pause, during which he scrutinized her with annoying indiscretion, coming as far as walking around her, as if to check if everything was in the proper place, he ordered dryly:

-Take off your turban.

-What? -She gasped. Even though her father never made her act or dress like a slave she had always used a turban in her head, just like any other slave woman. What was a sign of being a captive to others was protection for her. More than once she had been taunted about her hair, hiding it had become a necessity more than vanity. Specially after a niece of Genevieve had seen her without it and spread all over town that "the half-breed was a mambo (1)"

-Take off your turban. I want to see your hair. -He ordered again, determined to be the first one to see the famed hair that created so much of her reputation.

As he took a few steps away from her, the young woman raised her hands to the knot that held the turban together and undid it with some inner grief, like this strange man had just violated her in a way not even Genevieve had ever dared. As the fabric came off, a cascade of silvery-white hair flooded over her exposed shoulders. Remy grinned from ear to ear, his curiosity satisfied beyond his expectations, and turned to Etienne, who was standing by the stairs:

-Etienne, mon ami, you brought me a mambo! -He laughed and then turned back to her-Where did you get this hair, mon enfant?

-I was born with it, sir…-she let out, utterly offended.

-Well, I guess Etienne did the best job possible in finding me a servant…I can hardly think of someone as special as this-he said in a way she didn't knew was either mockery or compliment.

He simply turned away, went towards the stairs and turned back to her one last time before getting back to his room

-Etienne will show you the house and tell you what you'll have to do…You'll have your own room, and feel free to use any other rooms in the house to your convenience, including the library and living room if you ever feel like. The only one you are barred from entering without my permit are my chambers and the basement, aside from that…Make yourself at home.

-Don't mind him…Master Lebeau can be eccentric, but he is a good man…

She really wasn't interested in a word Etienne was saying. She forced herself not to break under the fact that she had, in the mere space of a month, lost her father, her childhood home and wound up in a strange house in the city, with nothing but the clothes on her back and a small bag, at the mercy of a man she had never seen before. For the first time in her life she realized what she had ever been after all. She was the daughter of the Master, but also the daughter of the slave; and somewhere along the line one side of the balance would be heavier.

Now she knew which one…

Ororo kept quiet as Etienne showed her the whole house. There was nothing there that could get her attention really; she just wanted to sleep a little. Maybe when she woke up things would be better. Finally Etienne led her to her room. Since the house was too big for a lonely man living with just two servants, both of them could afford to have their own rooms. Her new bedroom was slightly different from her former bedroom in her father's house: it was smaller, but still spacious, it was hid in the end of a corridor on the second floor, while Etienne´s room was in the first floor and Remy´s in the third (probably a precaution to give her some privacy and keep her away from the two men living in the house, since she would be the only woman living there, which struck her as oddly considerate of Lebeau), with a bed, an armchair, an armoire and a desk, the windows overlooked the garden. Another door led to a contiguous, smaller, room, where she could find a bathtub and other personal hygiene utilities and feminine articles such as brushes and cosmetics.

-My room is just under yours, if you ever need anything you can just call out and I'll hear you. If you need to buy anything for your personal use, you're free to do it, as long as I accompany you.

-Thank you.

- Now I'll leave you so you can settle in…

-Uh…Etienne…

-Yes?

-The…master-she let out, still not used to the word-…he…how's he? I mean…-She hesitated, not knowing how to refer to the rumors about Lebeau awkward ways.

Etienne smiled in understanding:

-Don't worry…He is a good man…He's just a little off since his father died, but you have nothing to worry about. Here's your key, the master only has one copy for the room the maid occupies, for safety, you know, so try not to loose it. But if you do, you can ask for another one. Keep your door locked at night, and don't mind if you hear any noises, the Master likes to go out at night.

-Ok, thank you…

-Oh, one more thing…there aren't many rules to be followed around here, except…you can't go to his room, ever or the basement. That's serious, ok? You can go wherever you want in the house, but never to his room or the basement…unless he gives you permission. That is usually once a week, to clean up. And never disturb him during the day. He spends the whole night up and needs to rest.

-That's fine.

-Good. I'll wake you up in the morning to show you what is it you'll have to do. There are some old clothes of the last maid still in the armoire, they should do for now. I see you haven't brought much with you…. -Etienne stated, pointing at the small bag the girl had with her, and exiting with a sympathetic smile in his lips.

Ororo just nodded, resisting the temptation of asking what had become of the last maid.

As the door was closed, the young woman locked it, dropped her bag on the bed and went to the armoire to get a something to change into. Opening her tight corset to finally get a much needed breath, she proceeded to slip into a nightgown that was obviously too short for her tall figure, and sat on the bed, still too tensed up by the unknown environment, fighting back the urge to cry.

She had been sound sleep for a few hours, defeated by fatigue, when she heard something coming from above. Opening her eyes she looked up, felling a subtle vibration on the ceiling and listened carefully. Someone was walking with slow steps in the floor over her. Sitting up straight with her back against the hard-wooden headboard, she followed the sounds. The steps approached steadily, until she could hear them right above her, the vibration now very clear like someone was walking right on top of her room's ceiling. She figured someone was coming down the stairs, probably the master. Getting the half spent candle that lit her room she walked towards the door, opening it without noise.

She got out in the corridor, not daring to go too further; from her point of view she could see the poorly lightened hallway and the second staircase that led down to the first floor. The steps were now getting more distant from her bedroom, and soon she spotted a tall masculine shadow making its way towards the second staircase. All of the sudden, though, he stopped. She took a step back but still mesmerized by the dark figure, didn't go back to her room. Without warning the man turned around.

For a second it seemed his eyes were glowing brightly red in the dark.

-Ororo-The master's voice called out. -What are you doing there?

-Oh, nothing I just…

-Get back in your room. I don't want you wandering in the house at night. And lock the door- He blurted turning around .

All of the sudden her feet seemed to be freed from the floor, and as a chill ran down her spine, she rushed back to her room, locking the door and getting back to bed, unconsciously reaching for the bible in the nightstand

-Ororo?-She heard Etienne voice, followed by soft knocks on the door. She had gotten up early as usual, and was almost dressed by now. She still had to do her hair, but imagining that from now on she wouldn't be allowed the luxury of a morning toilet, Ororo decided to just close her dress and open the door, tying her hair loosely with a ribbon.

-I'm coming. -She let out, going to the door.

Once she answered the door, Etienne looked at her up and down and stated the obvious:

-This is the same dress from last night. I take that Marie's clothes didn't fit you.

-Too short, I'm afraid.

-That's fine…the master left me instructions to take you to a dressmaker, so you can order a few dresses.

-That won't be necessary, I can very well make my own clothes, I just need the fabric. -Ororo told him with pride, the mere idea of accepting dresses from a man sounding automatically offensive.

-It's not a favor, but an order. C'mon, let's go…we don't have all day.

She felt irritated, but decided there was no point in arguing.

-Just wait a minute, please, I need my turban.

-Suit yourself.

The summer was over and fall was just around the corner. The heat had subsided and a cool breeze made its way through the oaks and maples, bringing fresh fragrances with it. As Ororo followed Etienne down the corridor, she inspected the house under the early morning light. Only now she realized how many pieces of furniture were hidden by dustcovers, and how many rooms were locked. Like the house was half-abandoned But then again it was just natural for a man who lived alone with two servants to not use most of the house.

The absence of the head of the household was the second thing to get her attention. Back at home her father was usually one of the very first ones to get up and sit on the breakfast table. Again, Ororo imagined the reason she didn't see a table set was because she was the one supposed to do it. So, naturally she decided to ask Etienne.

-You just have to fix breakfast for the two of us.

-He doesn't eat?

-Nope…Not at home at least. That's one of the reasons he doesn't need more servants.-The young man told her as he opened the kitchen door and proceeded to help her make coffee and toast.

-Then what is that I have to do?

-Not much. Just clean and wash, pretty much…don't worry, you won't see much of him either, only at night. He sleeps all day. You'll get used to it.

Once they ate, Etienne got up and prompted her to follow him to the carriage. It was strange enough for her to use Lebeau´s personal carriage to go to a dressmaker. It almost seemed like she wasn't a servant but his newly wed wife. Once again Etienne told her these were the instructions. They got down at a small shop on Royal Street and made their way in.

Ororo braced herself to be striped out of her usual fine clothes and be put into simple garments, indicated for someone of her current position, when Etienne handled the dressmaker an envelope.

-This is what Monsieur Lebeau wants. Five day dresses, two gowns, three summer dresses and three winter dresses, plus two coats and as many nightgowns, stockings and undergarments as the young lady sees fit. Make sure you find the accessories to go with it.

-I have some fabrics that will be adequate, I suppose-The old woman told her with a puzzled expression on her face, measuring Ororo from head to toe.

-Monsieur Lebeau specifically asked you to order French fabrics…

-Yeah, but...

-Those are the ones he intends you to use.

-But I thought he had ordered those…

-For the young lady. -Etienne cut her off before she could rant about having to dress a slave in fine French fabrics-I'll be back within two hours while you take her measurements and you two look at the fabrics.

It was past six in the afternoon when she saw Lebeau for the first time that day. From what Etienne told her, it would always be like this. As Lebeau made his way down the stairs, she stopped her knitting (which she had been allowed to do in the living room, under the rules that gave her access to the entire house) and straightened up.

-Good evening, sir…

-Good evening, Ororo. Don't mind me I'll just sit here for a while and read…-He said, granting her a smile that made her forget how afraid she had been of him the night before. She most definitely saw things, the young woman told herself, as he sat on the armchair.

-How did you sleep? -He asked never taking his eyes from his book.

-Fine, thanks, sir.

-It didn't seem.

-I'm sorry for that …I heard some noises…

-Well, next time you hear noises at night don't bother to get up…I can assure you last time I checked there were no ghosts in this house…-he grinned

-Sure…-she half-laughed

As soon as the young woman returned to the task in hand, Remy lifted his eyes over the book to follow her movements. It was sure funny to see that girl in simple attire running house errands. She had been raised like a white girl, the daughter of Laurent DuPlessis for crying out loud…she talked like an educated white girl, she was most certainly used to dress like a rich white girl, her movements were as elegant as those of any southern belle worth the name, if not more; yet she was a slave. His slave he told himself with a grin in his lips. **His**, he repeated with renewed satisfaction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

**Chant d'automne**

Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres;  
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts!  
J'entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres  
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.

Tout l'hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère,  
Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,  
Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,  
Mon coeur ne sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glacé.

J'écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe  
L'échafaud qu'on bâtit n'a pas d'écho plus sourd.  
Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe  
Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.

II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,  
Qu'on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.  
Pour qui? — C'était hier l'été; voici l'automne!  
Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.

— _Charles Baudelaire_

**Song of Autumn**

I

Soon we shall plunge into the cold darkness;  
Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!  
Already I hear the dismal sound of firewood  
Falling with a clatter on the courtyard pavements.

All winter will possess my being: wrath,  
Hate, horror, shivering, hard, forced labor,  
And, like the sun in his polar Hades,  
My heart will be no more than a frozen red block.

All atremble I listen to each falling log;  
The building of a scaffold has no duller sound.  
My spirit resembles the tower which crumbles  
Under the tireless blows of the battering ram.

It seems to me, lulled by these monotonous shocks,  
That somewhere they're nailing a coffin, in great haste.  
For whom? — Yesterday was summer; here is autumn   
That mysterious noise sounds like a departure.

It had been almost two weeks since her visit to the dressmaker when the articles ordered finally arrived. Ororo watched from the stairs as delivery boys marched into the house each one carefully holding up a dress, and three more carrying boxes with undergarments, hats and shoes. Not that she wasn't used to luxury, but it never crossed her mind to receive such exaggerated care from someone other than her father. She was well aware of the fact that, aside from Laurent, nobody had any particular reason to be nice to her. Her father was all she had, and once she lost him she had braced herself to face a life of hardship.

She entered the Lebeau household ready to face the worst she could possibly imagine. She didn't have anyone to protect her; she had become property of an unknown man with a decadent reputation that preceded him and she would be all alone in the house, the only woman living there. Her expectations couldn't be any worse, and she was prepared to face it stoically.

After a week however, she found herself in a position not only comfortable, but quite close to happiness. She only saw Remy at night, usually before he went out, for the better part of the day she was alone and since the house didn't require much care, she had a lot of time to herself to do as she pleased. Usually she would go to the library and read for hours; since Remy had allowed her to read any book in the library without asking, or stay in the living room playing the piano or knitting. It was almost as if the house was hers; except for the fact that she wasn't allowed to go out in the street without company.

That didn't really bother her, as she wasn't used to the city. What bothered her was the feeling it had. Back in the farm she could walk on the fields, wander in the garden, she had even traveled a couple of times with her father when he went to New York on business. She stayed in when she wanted to stay in. Here she stayed in because she had to, and that greatly upset her.

The delivery boys stood in line in the middle of the living room waiting for Lebeau to arrive. Ororo watched as the dressmaker, Madame Deveroux walked in to make the last arrangements, and crossed her arms over her chest. Last time they had seen each other Madame Deveroux had been awfully unpleasant; she didn't say anything, but it was quite clear she considered herself to be far above dressing Ororo. A new rush of irritation brought the blood up to her cheeks when she overheard the woman grouching.

-Make me come over this late at night…For what? To dress a Negro…What a waste of satin and silk and…

Before she could hear the rest, Ororo turned on her heels and walked up the stairs, not at all feeling like staying around that creature. She stopped on the spot when Remy crossed her path, coming down the stairs:

-Where are you going? You still have to see if those fit. -He gestured towards the line of dresses.

-I really don't think all of that is necessary…

-But I do. -He pulled her gently towards the living room

-Madame Deveroux!- Remy let out in a joyful manner as he walked in the living room. The dressmaker presented him with her right hand, which he bent to kiss giving her a full view of Ororo, standing behind him. The look in the older woman's gray eyes didn't escape Ororo´s attention, and she looked away, irritated, but said nothing.-So, shall we proceed?

The woman smiled at Lebeau and then looked back at Ororo, once again measuring her from head to toe, probably wondering why such a rich, handsome and well-educated gentleman would go to such trouble just to pamper a slave. Remy passed by Madame Deveroux, heading his chair on the middle of the room.

-And make sure you treat the young lady very well, Madame-He whispered from behind her, so she would be the only one in the crowded room to hear-after all, those dresses are putting food on your table for a long time, ne c´est pas?

The woman blinked, terrified at the possibility that he had heard her rants, and rushed to get Ororo dressed.

-Let's start with the day dress…-she let out, still tense, prompting Ororo to a secluded room to change.

—

Ororo watched from the window as Madame Deveroux carriage left. She was now dressed in a light blue dress with a small pattern of white flowers, and her hair was pulled back in a ribbon. Remy had chosen that dress as his personal favorite and insisted she kept it on. "Compliments your eyes" he said.

For some reason she found herself rather pleased by the comment.

Now Etienne was off to the stable, preparing Remy´s carriage. Lebeau had a meeting to attend, a private party for plantation owners and their wives at Madam Frost's house. Emma Frost was a northern woman who had married into a traditional southern family, inheriting miles of cotton fields once her husband passed away. The "perfect scam" Remy thought to himself, the perfect way of robbing the entire patrimony of a man without ever doing anything illegal.

-Ororo, have you seen my coat? - She heard Lebeau ask from the living room

-Is on the hanger. -She stated going for the coat and passing it on to him.

-Dammit. –He hissed trying to fix his lapels in place- I still can't believe she invited old McCarthy. And if I know him the night will most certainly end up in one of those heated conversations about abolitionism. Knowing his exciting rhetorical style I'll have to try real hard not to break a glass of wine and cut my wrists with it. –He chuckled, smiling at her with the corner of his mouth.

-You'll survive it...

-I hope so…damn, can you help me with this? -He asked, gesturing his collar and crooked tie.

Ororo felt a little embarrassed at such an intimate request, but complied. With unsure movement she approached him and fixed his tie in place, not daring to look up.

-Is really shameful that a man my age still has problems with a tie, huh? - He chuckled- But I guess every man just needs a feminine touch to be fully presentable, ne c´est pas?

-There you go, take a look in the mirror.

-No it's fine. – He told her a little anxiously, which struck her as odd, but she let it go.-Blue becomes you, chère.

She blinked at the impromptu compliment. As Etienne came in, she instinctively walked away from Remy, taking a seat on the stool by the grand piano. The valet looked a little puzzled by the tableau he found coming in, his master and the new maid standing so intimately close, and then her suddenly shy demeanor, but decided to keep his impressions to himself:

-The carriage is ready, sir.

Remy merely glanced at the baroque golden clock sitting atop of the mantle:

-It's still early… Give me some more time. I definitely don't wish to be the first one there…I refuse to drag myself through unnecessary torture…Is bad enough that I have to go in the first place…Etiquette can be awfully cruel sometimes…

-As you wish, sir…-The valet left, casting one last suspicious glance at Ororo, much to her annoyance.

-So- Remy asked her, as he walked over to the dark red chaise long in front of the piano-how do you feel about your new wardrobe? Everything to your liking?

-Very much so…thank you. You really shouldn't…

-Don't say that…you're used to have the best, why should it be any different? It would be a complete shame to have such a beautiful woman dressed in rags like any girl from the street.

She looked away and didn't say anything. Feeling an awkward uneasiness, she turned away from him and let her fingers wonder over the keys of the piano, phantoming a melody, but not daring to actually play it.

-Do you play?-He asked calmly, his voice showing genuine interest.

-Yes...

-Play something for me…

-I...-she answered, unsure…

-Come on…I´m about to spend the next hours listening to some old men bragging about their farms production and scowl at the northern abolitionists…At least give me something pleasant to think of while I pretend to be listening to them…-He smiled.

She shook her head and sat up straight, and within moments the first notes of Beethoven "Moonlight Sonata" filled the air. It was her favorite piano tune, since she was but a child. Her father would often wonder why such a young girl would like such a morose, melancholic song.

As the notes floated in the air, one after the other, slow and darkly, Remy found himself lost in a kind of reverence he hadn't ever felt before. He wasn't a reverent man, he wasn't on to worship or to contemplate anything the human race could produce…He had seen so much and within some time would have seen it all…

But he had to admit, he was in awe.

Even if her back was turned to him, he could see the grace in her movements, in the way her head bowed ever so slightly with the rhythm of the piece, how the curls of her hair fell gently over her back, mixing into the white flowers of her pale blue dress…

It was almost cruel that such a creature, this gorgeous blue seraph, should wind up in his life. He of all people to have her so close…Almost as if God was playing a joke on him, to show such light to one forever doomed to the darkness…

With a sting of grief he got up and left in silence, before the song was over, so she wouldn't notice…

—

Remy hated to attend to those nightly functions, where all he could hear were empty political discussion and even emptier social gossip. Even though he had come. Why? To get away from her...

Ororo…

Since that girl had arrived he had been fighting away the urge to…for some reason he couldn't even bring himself to think what he felt like doing to her. What was so easy to do to anyone else; he couldn't even bear the though of doing it to her. Yet, as terrible as the ideas were, they were also…pleasurable.

-Remy, my dear…won't you join us?-He heard the mellifluous voice of the hostess coming from behind him, as he stood on the balcony watching the street outside He turned to see the blonde standing there in one of her luxurious and expensive gowns that earned her the reputation of being New Orleans very own version of Marie Antoinette.

-Emma…I'm afraid I'm not in a very festive mood today…

She laughed, that slightly wicked laughter of hers.

-That doesn't sound at all like you…

-Even I have my bad days…

-The ladies have been asking about you.-She added with some malice.

He just shrugged not really wanting to play along with her mundane little charades.

-Come on…we have some of the most beautiful ladies of New Orleans here and you show no interest…Something might be wrong…

-Nothing wrong…But I'm afraid the only lady that would get my attention isn't attending.

-Oh…Remy Lebeau…In love? Could that possibly be?

-Don't make any conjectures yet, ma belle…-He told her seriously, her question making him feel annoyed for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.

Or wouldn't.

Turning around he went back inside the ballroom where the judge was making a toast to the glory of the South. He moved to the front door and gained the street…

—

The moon was full. So full, round and brilliant the streetlamps seemed to fade in the dark, overshadowed by the blue-silvery light of Artemis´s carriage. Ororo sat one the window bench on the library watching the quiet movement of the leafs on the trees outside.

She rested her forehead on the cool stained glass as her fingers lazily played with the satin ribbon that held the front of her laced nightgown together. It was almost past midnight now. Etienne warned her that Lebeau usually stayed out until late, but she couldn't sleep…

True to be said, she was worried.

He had left without a word, almost as if running away from her…She wondered if she did anything to upset him…Remy Lebeau was an eccentric man, everybody said that, Etienne said it on her first day in that house…The aura of charm and elegance that surrounded him was strong enough to even reach the most isolated farms on the bayou.

And yet, what she saw was entirely different.

He was melancholic. Even when he was being witty or sharp, there was a sting of sadness on him that was very much visible to her. He had the eyes of a man who had seen too much, the smile of a person who had gone through a lot, and, when he was quiet, there was a kind of heavy expression on his face that made her wonder what could have ever happened to such a young man to leave behind such evident marks.

Ororo would be damned before admitting but…there was something on him that fascinated and frightened her at the same time. Some philosophers say the nature of sacred was precisely that…fascinas et tremere…fascination and tremor…What is beyond understanding, and within the reach of contemplation. Lebeau´s presence had something of dark and holy that made her shiver; as if he didn't belong to this world somehow…

Brushing the dark red Persian rug with one bare foot, she let out a sigh and stepped away from the widow. Picking up a book at random she reclined on the black velvet chaise longue and flipped through the pages, fighting to keep her sleepy lids from closing.

—

-Who's Ororo? Sounds like a Negro name...

Remy looked over to the naked woman wantonly lying on her stomach across the bed. His eyes turned back to the outside. They were in her apartment, where she entertained her clients, as she told him, on the second floor of the most decadent doss-house the most lurid mind could imagine. Outside the beggars, prostitutes and pimps were still walking in the shadows, hidden from the human eye, but completely visible to his inhuman ones…

-You said her name…-She insisted with somewhat of a sweet smile, in that way some prostitutes had of trying to be confidants to their Johns.

Remy didn't answer. Instead he walked away from the window and reached for his shirt, tossed over the arm of a chair. Retrieving some money from the pocket of his coat, he tossed it at the bed:

-Is that enough?

-Hey, easy, mon brave…I didn't mean to offend you. -She tossed a lock of brown hair over a milky shoulder and laid on her back stretching her arms out to him. -Come here.

He merely stared at her, annoyed by her vulgarity. What was he thinking, coming here? It was laughable, him coming after a street whore whose pimp was probably somewhere waiting to send the next one in…

-Save it, fille…-He finished buttoning his shirt.

-You can call me Ororo if you want…

He stood there for some moments, trying to digest the words. He felt a rush of anger sweep through his body, as if she had just said the worst profanity someone could ever say. He frowned and phantomed a devilish grin, the woman most likely mistook for lustful.

She received him in her arms with almost child-like naïveté, allowing him to pin her to the mattress and bring his mouth to her neck.

Probably the other inhabitants of that hell-hole were very much used to screams, as no living soul showed up as she yelled at the top of her lungs, begging for her life. No one showed up then, or when he made his way downstairs with calm steps and exited the building, leaving behind a bloodless carcass no one would find… at least until her pimp wondered why the heck she hadn't showed up with his money…

—

Looking around, Ororo realized she had fallen asleep in the library. She looked up to the clock in the mahogany desk. Four in the morning. A noise caught her attention.

-What are you doing here, chère? - She heard Remy say in an altered tone.

-I am sorry, sir. I must have fallen asleep. -She sat up as he made his way into the library.

What she saw left her speechless for a moment. Remy had his shirt wide open, almost bare-chested, his hair was wildly disheveled and his eyes seemed to sparkle. He must have been drinking heavily, she thought to herself with a hint of fear, and she sighted the proof of it from the bright red stain on his white shirt, which, she figured, was red wine.

-How many times did I tell you not to wander in the house at night?

-I know. I am terribly sorry. It won't happen again…

-It shouldn't happen ever, you hear me?

-Yes…-she said holding his gaze.

Remy left the door and walked towards her. For the sureness of his walking it was obvious he wasn't drunk, but he still looked intoxicated. His nostrils were inflated like those of a beast sniffing the prey, the burnt-auburn locks of his hair were wet with sweat, even though it was cold outside, his eyes seemed to pierce through her, and all of the sudden her mind brought her back for that night, when she saw him wandering like a damned soul on the second floor.

-Who do you think you are, girl? Huh? When I say you don't do something, you don't do it, you hear me? Or you think you can do as you please? This is not your daddy's house! You're mine, you hear? MINE!!! I OWN YOU!!!

Ororo made herself smaller and smaller as he approached her. She couldn't tell if it was his words, or the menacing posture, or just the confusion of seeing the otherwise kind gentleman in such state, but she was petrified.

-I'm sorry, sir…

Even more altered by the apologies, he yanked her by the hair

-LOOK AT ME!!!

Ororo lifted her eyes to look at him, with defiance. If something was going to happen to her, she might as well face it. His face was inches from hers, so close he was breathing on her mouth. He didn't smell of alcohol, she realized…It was something…metallic. She tried to keep her eyes open, fighting back the tears; she hated to cry in front of people.

Slowly, Ororo felt the grip on her hair loosen up until she was free. She leant against the desk, lowering her head so he wouldn't see the tears flowing down her cheeks, forcing herself not to sob.

Remy stood in front of her, a jolt of electricity running down his spine at the sound of her suppressed sobbing. It was the first time since his father's death he had felt that disarming sense of impotence…He hated her even more for doing that to him; and he hated himself for doing that to her.

-Get out of here-he murmured.

Stumbling on her nightgown she ran off.

—

She had been weeping on her pillow for almost twenty minutes now, a hopeless mix of fear and disappointment, when she heard his voice.

-Ororo?

-Yes? -She answered sitting up.

-Stop crying.

She cleaned the tears from her face with the back of her hand and tried to arrange the cleavage of her nightgown, as the laced trim, made loose by the undone ribbons, slipped over her heaving bosom.

-I'm sorry-he said awkwardly. He didn't remember the last time he had apologized to anyone for anything. He didn't even know why he was doing it now. It just…got out of his lips…-I shouldn't have shouted at you.

-That's fine…-she lied, her hard panting slowing down.

Remy looked down at her, still feeling the rush of adrenalin washing over his body. He approached her, and strangely, the fact that she actually tensed and moved a little away gave him some sense of regret. His senses were so awaken that he could hear the blood running under her cocoa skin, the smell of fear and deception making him ache with regret for making her cry, and a irrational need to make her cry some more.

She was the perfect prey; scared, yet, somehow willing…He could just…No, he wouldn't… Retracting the hand that was irresistibly drawn to her cheek, he moved away:

-Anyway…I'll go to my room now…and please…

-Yes?

-Make sure your door is locked before you go to bed.

—

-I've been calling you for twenty minutes now...Are you feeling well? - Etienne asked her as she emerged into the kitchen.

-Yes…sorry to keep you waiting…

-You don't look all right…-The young man frowned. In fact Ororo was pale and had dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She had spent the whole night up. After the late night exchange with Lebeau, she hadn't been able to even put her head on the pillow. Her mind was overflowing with scary thoughts, the worst of them that kept taunting her throughout the night: she shouldn't trust Remy Lebeau.

It was a mistake to let herself become comfortable with her current situation, to believe Remy would be nice to her. She had just gotten solid evidence that he wouldn't. She was his property, nothing else. At least that was how he saw her.

-I had some trouble sleeping…-she trailed off.

-Still haven't gotten used to the house?

-Don't worry…it was just a bad night…

Ororo poured them some tea, and sat at the table in silence. Etienne decided to let her be.

-Etienne…-She finally spoke.

-Yes?

-Where were you last night?

-Out…the master gave me the night off, said he would come back home on his own, that he wanted to walk a little…Why something happened?

-No... just…I don't like being alone in the house at night…

-I see… I'm sorry…I won't do this again…

-Thank you…

-So, let's go?

-Uh?

-Groceries…remember?

-Oh, sure…

—

The sun was glowing warmly, giving the cool air a very cozy quality; and the weather was bright and comfortable. So the streets were filled: mothers with their children, young couples, packs of boys laughing and running around, groups of girls chatting, everybody seemed to have taken some time to enjoy the day. The trees were starting to dress in all shades of red, orange and yellow, so everyone would know fall was arriving. Ororo stepped out of the carriage, aided by Etienne's hand.

If she would care to pay attention she would probably have heard some harsh remarks from a group of young ladies standing nearby. By now everybody in town knew that Remy Lebeau had bought "Duplessis´bastard", and, as Etienne had warned her, curiosity and reproval were overflowing from people's expressions and words every time she stepped a foot outside.

She walked on, ignoring the comments and stares.

-Extra! Extra! Murder on Canal Street! - A young boy shouted on the corner, waving a newspaper while holding a pile of others under his arm. A small crowd formed around him, eager for information.

Ororo stopped for a moment and looked down to see a loose newspaper page fallen on the street.

"Found dead…Emily Deschamps…broken neck…dilacerated artery… exsanguination…police has no evidence as to who might have" were the words she could read out of the article, before Etienne caught her attention and hurried her to the store.

A few steps away, a haughty black woman in her early forties, wearing a dark dress and hat clutched the newspaper in her hands, her brown eyes following Ororo as Etienne walked her into the store. As the young woman disappeared from her sight, Mattie Baptiste shook her head and with deep sigh, turned around and hailed a carriage…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

**Alchimie de la douleur**

L'un t'éclaire avec son ardeur,  
L'autre en toi met son deuil, Nature!  
Ce qui dit à l'un: Sépulture!  
Dit à l'autre: Vie et splendeur!

Hermès inconnu qui m'assistes  
Et qui toujours m'intimidas,  
Tu me rends l'égal de Midas,  
Le plus triste des alchimistes;

Par toi je change l'or en fer  
Et le paradis en enfer;  
Dans le suaire des nuages

Je découvre un cadavre cher,  
Et sur les célestes rivages  
Je bâtis de grands sarcophages.

**The Alchemy of Sorrow**

One man lights you with his ardor,  
Another puts you in mourning, Nature!  
That which says to one: sepulcher!  
Says to another: life! glory!

You have always frightened me,   
Hermes the unknown, you who help me.  
You make me the peer of Midas,  
The saddest of all alchemists;

Through you I change gold to iron   
And make of paradise a hell;  
In the winding sheet of the clouds

I discover a beloved corpse,  
And on the celestial shores  
I build massive sarcophagi.

— _Charles __Baudelaire_

Mattie Baptiste had seen a lot. More than most people could ever dream on seeing.

With the traditions her Haitian mother had passed on to her, with the loas, the rituals, she had inherited something else… It was both a blessing and a curse, but she accepted it with all the possible implications. Mattie Baptiste was a mambo, a keeper of secrets, the one who could face demons and still live to tell it.

But, no matter how much power one could wield, no matter how respectfully her name was spoken by the lips of the entire city of New Orleans, no matter how much fame she had, how many people she could help…there was one person she couldn't help, the one she wanted the most to rescue.

She had known Remy since he was a boy. A little too skinny to look healthy, but nevertheless an energetic child, one that would laugh out loud even in formal occasions, who would run into the bushes so he wouldn't be forced to go to church on Sundays, who would play hide and seek with the maids. The child she raised. Her little boy.

When old Jean Luc Lebeau died, Mattie wasn't a slave any longer, she had bought her own freedom long before, and was living in town, but still, Remy was her boy, all grown up as he was, he was her dear boy. She remembered the grief she saw on his face during the funeral. A face that had never been struck by grief or pain before. She remembered how he walked up to her and into her arms, just like he used to do when he was a little pup. She could still hear the muffled sobs he tried fruitlessly to hide that day, as his face was buried into her right shoulder.

As time passed he began to grow used to idea that he was alone. His mother had died at childbirth, he had no brothers or sisters, or any family to account for…His father left him the sole heir to a fortune most people couldn't even begin to imagine, he was, at twenty, the owner of lands, men, animals, houses, properties…wealth most people would take five lifetimes to gather. It was all dropped on his lap, and he was alone. No one to guide him, to give him advice, comfort…

He was the richest man in New Orleans, but he only saw himself as a fatherless child, frightened and lonely.

Mattie had done her best to be there for him. He would often come over to her humble house and spend hours talking to her, as to avoid his own house. He left the farm, his childhood home and moved into town, almost like he was running away from the memories of his youth, forcing himself to step into the role of a grown man. And he did, in less than a year, little Remy became Monsieur Lebeau, land owner, businessman, habitué at the city's richest houses; refined, witty, charming… the living incarnation of what a powerful man should be.

Mattie was relieved.

But then…He made a trip to France…Apparently he had some business to deal, something about an English company interested in buying his cotton, he would meet with their representative in Paris, where the man had a vacationing house where Remy would spend some time.

He stayed out for three months. And once he came back…Mattie couldn't put her finger on it…but he was changed…

All of the sudden he would spend like a Maharaja, go to twice as many balls and parties as he used to before, drink heavily, go out only at night, sleep throughout the day…He became moody and aggressive, ceased to go horse-ridding under the morning sun, ceased laughing, became reclusive and eccentric…

Most people deemed it to his European vacation. He was now a fashionable bohemian, a dark romantic, someone who drank absinthe, made dark remarks, and acted nonchalantly about everything.

But Mattie knew something was wrong. Remy wouldn't look for her anymore, and more than once Etienne had told her he was behaving bizarrely, going after women on the lowest parts of town, locking himself up on his room, not eating…Then there was Marie… Remy told Etienne she was sent to the farm. But when Mattie went over to visit the foreman, he denied even seeing the girl. She kept the information from Etienne…he had been working for Remy since he had moved to town and was pretty much oblivious to most changes in his master's character, the few strange things he was aware of, the young man dismissed as "rich people non-sense".

But Mattie…she couldn't help to get the shivers…especially knowing that Marie had been promptly replaced with another young woman…Mattie shook her head as the streets and people went by the carriage window, and hoped her intuition was wrong…but she could just smell something wrong in the air…

—

As soon as she realized Etienne was gone to run his daily errands, Ororo left the living room and rushed back to her room. Locking the door behind her back, and drawing in the curtains like a person who has something to hide, she opened her armoire and retrieved the small bag she had brought with her upon her arrival at the Lebeau household. It was a small satin bag, blue with embroidered white stars; she had since she was five years old. In it she had hidden over the years, away from Genevieve's ever watchful eyes, all the necklaces, earrings, bracelets had father had bought her over the years.

Thankfully Genevieve didn't know of them, so she could take the jewels with her. She had been plotting it since she received the news that she would be sold away; and last night upon seeing the true face of the man who had control over her life, her resolve was merely straightened. Those jewels would be her passage to freedom; a last gift from her beloved father. Those sapphires, emeralds and pearls, once sold, would allow her to buy her freedom.

After Remy´s outburst, however, she had changed her mind. That tyrant in gentleman's guise wouldn't be generous enough to give her freedom in exchange of money. She would have to use the money to run away, as far away as she could. An soon.

Now the only problem was how to sell those jewels with Etienne always watching her every move. For now she would simply have to wait. Putting the bag under the mattress of her bed, she walked out of her room and proceeded to continue her errands, as if nothing was wrong.

—

-Etienne? - Ororo called softly as she went into the stable. Etienne was minding Romeo, a haughty black stallion that was Remy´s favorite horse, the only one he ever used when going out alone; all the others had been left on the farm.

-Yes? -The young man answered distractedly, concentrated on the task of brushing the powerful animal.

-Do you know what happened in Canal Street?

-You mean that thing on the papers?-He asked, passing a lazy hand through his blond hair.

-Yes…

-Somebody killed a girl up there…police is investigating. Why?

-Nothing… never mind.

-You don't need to be worried…She was a…loose woman…anyone could have done it…I bet it was one of her…-he stopped the sentence before saying something rude in front of her.

-"Suitors"? -Ororo helped him with a smirk.

-Yes…you could say that.

Ororo turned on her heels and, leaving him to his job, went out in the garden. The house had a gardener come over once a month to do some maintenance, but as Ororo could clearly see it was just that: basic maintenance. There was a very well trimmed lawn, and some tiny flowers, particularly small jasmines, pretty but not numerous, not to mention a large number of climbing plants. The bench was so dusty, she guessed no one spend anytime in the garden, which explained the lack of interest for it.

She passed a finger over the fine sheet of dust covering the bench and sat down anyway, not minding her beige dress getting dirty.

Etienne emerged from the stables:

-Let's get inside, is late.-He pointed to the purple clouds gathering over the sunset.

-You go…I still want to watch the twilights…-She told him with a hint of melancholy in her eyes, her heart heavy with the knowledge that soon Remy would be coming downstairs. She didn't want to face him at all.

-As you wish…

—

-Where is she? –Was the first thing Remy asked as he came into the kitchen. He had expected, even hopped, Ororo to be in the living room knitting or reading as she usually did, but not finding her he headed the kitchen, with an unsettling feeling of urgency, hoping to find her. Instead he only saw Etienne, quietly eating his dinner.

-Outside, sir…

-You let her outside?

-She's just sitting in the garden.

Remy frowned, and walked past his valet, heading the stables.

It was night already. The light on the kitchen shed a pale glow over the bench and the woman sitting on it. Her skin, which was getting paler everyday due to her not being outside very often, looked healthier under the faint golden light, her complexion assuming a bronzed shade that made her look almost like a statue put on the garden for decoration. In fact she was so quiet and still, mistaking her for a sculpture would be actually easy. Her elbow was propped on the laced iron structure of the bench's back, her head sustained on one hand, while her other hand rested on her lap, a small white flower entangled between her slim fingers; her dress spilled around her in soft waves it's beige color made morbidly pale by the eerie light, while some curls of her white hair fell freely over the back of her neck, exposed by the hairdo. She never saw him approach; instead she looked up, where the stars were starting to appear.

-Is cold out here. -He told her, trying to not look too anxious to hear her voice.

-Is all right. -She answered neutrally, not even bothering to look at him.

-You're still upset…-He let out, hoping not to sound too pathetic.

-No, I'm not upset, sir. –She stressed the last word wit venom, something he didn't miss.

-Come on…get back inside…-He told her, already slightly annoyed by her contempt attitude

-That's fine…I like being outside…-Her eyes avoided his to look down at the jasmine flower she had in her hand.

-Is a pretty pitiful excuse for a garden I have here, I'm afraid. - he smirked.

-Is not that bad…it could use some more flowers…-she answered without even realizing her cold tone had changed to a mellow whisper.

-You like flowers?

She didn't answer, slipping into old habits once again, she denied him the privilege of knowing she loved flowers more than anything else…

-I could have some roses here, or lilies…what do you prefer?

She kept stubbornly quiet. He walked over and sat down besides her.

-I know I behaved horribly towards you but…I'm not even worthy of knowing what your favorite flower is?

Faced with nothing but silence he got up:

-Very well, then…

-Primroses…-She muttered quietly as he walked away.

-Pardon? -He turned around.

Ororo never turned her face to him, but repeated the sentence:

-Primroses. Primroses are my favorites.

-We'll have primroses then.

-We'll have to wait till spring…

-We could use a conservatory here…this way you don't have to wait till spring for your primroses.

She turned to him, not quite believing her ears:

-A…greenhouse?

-Yes…a greenhouse…so you can have your primroses all year long…-With that he quietly made his way back inside the house.

—

-Primroses? -Henry McCoy, one of the most preeminent botanists in Louisiana raised an eyebrow at his interlocutor.

-Yes. Primroses. Where could I find those at this time of the year?

The last thing Henry had expected when invited to the function at Madame Delacroix´s house was to be enquired about flowers. Being the local botanist made him somehow one of the town's oddities. Most of the scholars in Louisiana were law graduates, or doctors; a very small portion of the city's crème de la crème. Most of the elite was very well settled in the idle life of landowners, Remy Lebeau included. Being a botanist had earned him the fame of being an lab eccentric, who spent his days minding plants and studying the latest news on the biology field, instead of attending to balls like other people of his position did. And in the few times he allowed himself a social life, nobody wanted to know about his occupation at all. Not interesting enough for high society cycles, maybe.

-At this time of the year…-He mumbled, rolling the glass of brandy between his fingers, as they sat on the twin brown leather armchairs in the studio, where Remy insisted on coming to talk in private. -Hard to know. The plant is perennial, but the flower only blooms on spring. In England they cultivate it all year long in greenhouses, due to high demand…you could import…

-Out of question. It will take months…I need the flowers as soon as humanely possible.

-I guess in New England. I could see to it for you, if you want.

-I'd be very grateful. I need as many kinds of primroses they have to offer, regular ones, evening primroses, candelabra…and lilies and roses. Lilies and white roses.

-Only white?

-I don't want them to overshadow the primroses. I'm thinking of building a conservatory in my house, and the primroses are essential. I want the conservatory to be filled with them, all kinds and colors, framed by white lilies and roses. And jasmines. -He added at last, his sharp memory for smells telling him that primroses might be Ororo´s favorite flower, but jasmines were her favorite fragrance.

Henry smiled, the eagerness of the young gentleman giving him a hint of what might be going on.

-I take that…if I may be so forward as to conjecture…but, does any young woman in town has a special penchant for primroses?

Remy grimaced, disguising his discomfort. He must have been acting like an enamored fool to be that obvious the reason of his request was a woman. He tried not to become annoyed by the question and trailed off:

-Maybe…maybe mon chèr Henri…

—

That morning Ororo was awakened by sounds coming from outside. She looked out the window to see a group of men gathering in the immense garden of the Lebeau household, some of them with papers and notes, others carrying what looked like building material. Etienne looked very busy reading a bunch of papers while a grave gentleman sat on a make shift table gave out instructions and sketched things on numerous papers.

-Etienne! - Ororo called out, already a little alarmed. The young man just waved at her. - What is happening out there?

-The master commissioned a conservatory. Mr. Feldman is taking care of it. - Etienne gestured the man by the table

Mr. Feldman, noted New York engineer tipped his hat as etiquette commanded in presence of a young lady and told her:

-I hope the conservatory will be to your liking, madam.

She closed her window without even answering; tremendously shocked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

**Harmonie du soir**

Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige  
Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;  
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir;  
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige!

Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;  
Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige;  
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige!  
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir.

Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige,  
Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir!  
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir;  
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.

Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,  
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige!  
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige...  
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir!

**Evening Harmony**

The season is at hand when swaying on its stem  
Every flower exhales perfume like a censer;   
Sounds and perfumes turn in the evening air;  
Melancholy waltz and languid vertigo!

Every flower exhales perfume like a censer;  
The violin quivers like a tormented heart;  
Melancholy waltz and languid vertigo!  
The sky is sad and beautiful like an immense altar.

The violin quivers like a tormented heart,  
A tender heart, that hates the vast, black void!  
The sky is sad and beautiful like an immense altar;  
The sun has drowned in his blood which congeals...

A tender heart that hates the vast, black void  
Gathers up every shred of the luminous past!  
The sun has drowned in his blood which congeals...  
Your memory in me glitters like a monstrance!

— _Charles __Baudelaire_

It was already November when Mr. Feldman finally considered the conservatory finished. Ororo however hadn't set a foot on it yet. Remy forbade her to do so until "everything was ready", whatever that meant.

She was becoming restless.

The conservatory stood in the middle of the garden shimmering under the sun like a jewel. It was all iron and glass; the iron was painted white forming slim columns and arabesques so complex the looked like the intricate nets of a little spider, the ceiling was of a faint blue glass framed on the sides by iron lacing that formed gracious curves and leaves designs while the top was plain. In the middle of it stood a small, tower like structure, with more simple arabesques, but made in such a delicate manner they seemed drops of water over the surface of the glass. It was impossible to see inside, though. Long pieces of white fabric covered the glass walls keeping Ororo from seeing what went on inside.

Until today.

-Ororo…-Etienne called her from the door.

-Yes? -

-It's all ready.

-Really?

-Yes…go see…

-But…what about…

-He said you should go all by yourself…

She got up and walked past Etiènne.

Ororo didn't want Remy to commission that greenhouse. She honestly didn't. But now that it had been made and was standing there right before her eyes everyday, she couldn't help but feel curious. Remy hadn't said word about it. And she didn't ask. She didn't want to look too interested, and she was still greatly upset with him. He respected her silences and never forced any conversation between them, while the greenhouse was being built, piece of glass by piece of glass, outside.

Ororo stepped out.

Now the walls of the conservatory were unveiled and inside she could see a multitude of colors. She walked the meters that separated the house from the glass structure and reached the conservatory door, painted in a deep red. As she entered, what she found inside took her breath away. There were primroses as far as the eye could see. The traditional creamy yellow primroses she loved so dearly, baby pink primroses (which Ororo knew were rare and only found in nature somewhere in England), cowslips, Scottish primroses; all kinds and all colors, framed by rows of white roses and lilies, atop of it all jasmines filled the air with fragrance, it was like watching a pallet of water colors come to life before her very own eyes.

She walked on, her heels making a soft clicking sound over the blue and yellow mosaic floor and her eyes met with a smaller structure contained into the conservatory. It was standing right under the tower-like elevation that graced the middle of the building, an octagon probably even bigger than her bedroom formed by the same glass and iron structure as the rest of the conservatory, only instead of arabesques the iron formed little stylized primrose designs. It had a door, just like the main building: the whole thing reminded her of those Russian dolls, where a smaller replica is set inside a doll, then a smaller and so on.

She opened the door to see a perfect living room, with two powder blue rococo-style armchairs and a table with a baby blue porcelain tea set atop. Besides the chairs there were two small tables, each with a tulip-shaped candlestick and copies of her favorite books neatly pilled besides them, within the reach of a hand; all around her beloved cream yellow primroses bloomed, and no other flower. There was no ceiling and when one looked up, all they could see was the sky through the glass ceiling of the conservatory.

On the tea table she also found a white vase filled with red flowers, that were made even redder by the contrast with all the soft yellows, blues and whites that abounded everywhere.

She had spent nearly half an hour going through each and every flower of the greenhouse when she finally got tired. Reluctant to leave her newfound sanctum, she sat on one of the armchair and let herself relax. It had been such a long time since she felt so… content. She hated to admit but what Remy had done...was lovely.

-So…am I forgiven? -She bolted up to her feet as heard Remy´s voice. She barely noticed as the night fell: now the lights of the main house were glowing over the glass and the candles lit by the armchairs made the entire place twinkle.

- I don't know about forgiven…-she chuckled, allowing herself some mischief- but you did make an impression on me…

-That's good…because is all yours…

-Mine? -She blinked.

-Yes…yours.

-I…- Now she noticed his hair was loose, falling down his shoulders, and he was wearing a very simple white shirt with black trousers. He didn't look like he was going out tonight.

-You liked it?

-I frankly don't know what to say…-She decided to be honest-It is gorgeous.

-Not nearly as much as it should be…I can't even tell you how much I'm sorry for being such a brute that night…I suppose alcohol got the best of me…

-You shouldn't have done this…-She told him sternly.

-I had to. -He smiled charmingly.

She blinked in confusion. Was this the same man? This wasn't possible.

-Do you mind if I seat? -He asked, gesturing one of the armchairs.

-Not at all…it your conservatory. -She answered seriously. He suddenly realized she wouldn't fully accept his apologies so quickly. How could she? Remy sat down and gestured the other armchair:

-Please…

-I don't think…

-Please, sit down. –He, then, gestured the books-read something to me…

-What?

-I decided to stay home today…frankly I no longer have patience for nightly functions…I don't know how Emma makes it…So, read me something…to past time for a while…Unless you don't want to…

-No is not that…I…-Ororo took a deep breath, deciding it wasn't worth arguing- what would you like to hear?

-Pick something…

She smiled, in spite of herself, and picked up a copy of the "One thousand and one nights". As the misfortunes of king Shahariar rolled from her lips, Remy half closed his eyes, drinking in the smoky alto of her voice, and, for the first time in years, he didn't feel the urge to go out and give in to his desperate cravings…

—

-Is it true that Remy Lebeau is…-The ladies attending Emma's afternoon tea whispered behind her fans, their voices betraying both curiosity and disappointment.

-In love? –Emma smirked- Is what I hear…

-I heard he made that gorgeous conservatory just to please the woman he is in love with.

-Could it be that he is really in love? I always figured Remy would remain a bachelor…

-But truly… I don't know of any woman that has been frequenting lately.

-And I never saw him with anyone publicly either.

-You're right…I don't know of anyone who can be his interest…If it was any of the women in town we would have known already…

-Maybe someone from out of town?

-He doesn't leave town in more than a year…

-You forget, my dearest ladies-Emma added with a hint of mischief while lifting the cup to her beautifully shaped lips- that excluding all the young ladies in town, and all the ones from out of town, there's still a woman who's very accessible to him…

-Who? -The other's asked almost in unison

-Duplessis´ little bastard.

-The slave? Are you jesting, Emma?

-Well think of it…He's been different since she was brought to town, I hear she is the only one besides himself that has access to that conservatory…not to mention… she's under his roof everyday, alone with him, doesn't go out…and as of late Remy is staying in every other night. I hardly ever see him in any event… What could you make of it?

-Frankly, I never expected him to stoop so low…

-Well we all know how men are…every young man has had his fun with one of them Negro girls…doesn't mean I thing…Is not like he's marrying her or anything.

—

Etienne entered the kitchen and let Ororo in. He closed the door while she took off her hat and put away the groceries and the many domestic articles they had bought. She puffed heavily and closed her fists over the tabletop.

-I guess I'll leave you alone…I'll be at the stables if you need me…-He told her quietly.

She didn't even bother to answer. As the young man left, she sat down and waited for her anger to subside. Now people didn't even bother to be discreet about their comments. Every time she went out in the street she had to hear as women voiced their outrage at her supposed relations with Remy in strong terms and men showered her with lewd looks. She even heard someone call her "Lebeau´s whore".

Calumny on top of humiliation. That was too much. She had to do something and soon.

—

-What bothers you? -She heard the familiar voice coming from the top of the stairs. She had been fiddling with the piano keys for a while now, her thoughts wandering away, so far away that she didn't even move as he came down the stairs.

-Tell me- He insisted in a sweeter tone, like he was talking to a little girl.

-Nothing. -She told him dully.

He sat by her side on the piano stool. She moved away slightly, but he ignored it. Taking a deep breath, he looked away from her and towards the window. Ororo pressed the piano keys one by one, filling the air with a monotone, depressing sound.

-You haven't been to the conservatory in two days…

-I know.

-Is about what people are saying, correct? Is that what made you upset?

She kept fiddling with the piano, ignoring his question.

-Or is it I?

-It's not you…not this time…I…oh, never mind…

-All right. I won't insist then…

He got up and walked towards the bookshelf in the opposite side of the room. He reached out for small cream colored portfolio wrapped with a pink satin ribbon nicely tied into a bow, and walked back holding it in front of her face:

-Maybe this will make you feel better…

She looked at him warily. She had seen the portfolio laying there, but she was so irritated she didn't even bother wondering what it was.

-Go ahead…give me some credit.

Ororo shook her head and took the portfolio. Undoing the pink bow, she opened it and retrieved several music scores. Her eyes passed over it, reading the titles carefully…there were all of the newest pieces for piano fresh out of Europe. Schumann, Schubert, Chopin…all that was played in the best theatres of France and Austria.

-I felt it was a shame such musical talent as yours wasted having nothing to play… Maybe studying these will take your mind from your worries. And if I could ask…I'd like to hear them, once you learn.

She gave him a reluctant smile:

-Of course.

-Good. I'll leave your to it. I have some business to attend. Don't wait up for me.

Remy walked away and opened the front door, casting one last glance at the woman as she eagerly read the scores.

He allowed himself a subtle smile. He almost felt like staying with her. Just sitting there and watching as she studied her music. Talk to her for a while, even if she didn't feel like speaking to him. It would feel…. warm, comfortable…sweet even…

But comfort, warmth, sweetness were things he couldn't afford anymore…turning around, he let the endless night engulf him.

—

Mattie Baptiste raised her eyes up to the blue painted two-story house that glowed in the morning sun. She hadn't stepped a foot in there since Remy´s return from France, for some reason she didn't feel comfortable going there anymore. Still she came.

She knew Remy wouldn't be seeing her, and it was better like this. She knocked softly. She instantly recognized the young woman who answered the door.

-Yes?

-Are you…Ororo?

-Yes, I am. -She raised an elegant eyebrow at the woman standing by the door.

-I'm Mattie.

-Oh…Etienne told me about you…come in, please. - Ororo gestured a chair, as the older woman came into the living room-I'm afraid Monsieur Lebeau is asleep, I could…

-No, child, you don't need to…I came here to talk to you.

-Me?

-Yes. You.

-Very well then…I'll get us some tea.

Ororo returned within a few minutes with a tea tray and laid it on the coffee table.

-Etienne told me how devoted you were to Monsieur Lebeau, when he was child. He still has you in very high opinion.. –Ororo said, as she poured Mattie a cup of steamy fresh tea- He is really sorry you two haven't been able to meet more often.

-Is he treating you right? -Mattie asked her, catching the subtle discomfort on the young woman's voice

- He can be a little harsh sometimes… I don't think he does it on purpose…-Ororo told her carefully, trying to avoid telling Mattie anything that would upset her-

Mattie took a deep breath.

-Are you sure everything is all right?

-Pardon, but…

-You don't have to hide things from me, chère…I know he has some problems. Remy is usually a very sweet young man…but he is also a troubled young man.

-I realize that…you know him better than me…if you say so; I suppose he is a good man… when he isn't troubled by something...or drinking… I mean, the conservatory was kind enough…

-I heard about the conservatory…everybody in town is talking about it…I thought it was funny; he never cared much for flowers…

-I'd have to say it's my "fault"… I gave him the idea of having flowers on the garden…I guess he took me a little too seriously…-she smiled nervously. True be told, at this stage of things, she didn't really know what to make of the latest events.

-I saw it…there's quite a lot of primroses…I suppose you suggested that too…

-But…I didn't ask him anything. He's just eccentric like this I guess...I reckon he has some problems. He strikes me as a very lonely person. I'm sorry…I shouldn't be saying those things, I…

-It's quite all right, my child. Just…if anything happens…anything at all…I just wanted you to know you can look for me…

Ororo blinked at the words, completely surprised by their seriousness. But before she could ask anything, the older woman stood:

-I must be going now, I'm afraid I've troubled you enough…

Ororo walked her to the door, still processing Mattie's words in her mind.

—

The open air never felt so sweet before. For some reason, the air inside Lebeau´s house was unbreathable to her. It was thick with something heavy and gloomy, Mattie couldn't quite identify. She shivered. The only places she had felt that kind of energy before where those inhabited by restless spirits. Standing in the middle of the living room of Remy´s house felt like standing in the middle of a cemetery, just as cold and desolated.

Mattie lowered her eyes. What could possibly be wrong in that house? What could have happened to her little boy? She dreaded to even think about it…

And now that young and innocent child was thrown in the middle of it. She didn't worry about Etienne. He was a servant not a slave; he could leave whenever he pleased. But Ororo, she was trapped in there. Both her and Remy were hopelessly trapped by something; something terrible and amorphous, a darkness that filled that house, something thick and nefarious that seemed to drip from every wall…and Mattie had no idea what it could be.

Mattie didn't know what she could do…but she knew she had to do it fast.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

L'Aube spirituelle

Quand chez les débauchés l'aube blanche et vermeille

Entre en société de l'Idéal rongeur,

Par l'opération d'un mystère vengeur

Dans la brute assoupie un ange se réveille.

Des Cieux Spirituels l'inaccessible azur,

Pour l'homme terrassé qui rêve encore et souffre,

S'ouvre et s'enfonce avec l'attirance du gouffre.

Ainsi, chère Déesse, Etre lucide et pur,

Sur les débris fumeux des stupides orgies

Ton souvenir plus clair, plus rose, plus charmant,

À mes yeux agrandis voltige incessamment.

Le soleil a noirci la flamme des bougies;

Ainsi, toujours vainqueur, ton fantôme est pareil,

Ame resplendissante, à l'immortel soleil!

— Charles Baudelaire

Spiritual Dawn

When debauchees are roused by the white, rosy dawn,

Escorted by the Ideal which gnaws at their hearts

Through the action of a mysterious, vengeful law,

In the somnolent brute an Angel awakens.

The inaccessible blue of Spiritual Heavens,

For the man thrown to earth who suffers and still dreams,

Opens and yawns with the lure of the abyss.

Thus, dear Goddess, Being, lucid and pure,

Over the smoking ruins of stupid orgies,

Your memory, clearer, more rosy, more charming,

Hovers incessantly before my widened eyes.

The sunlight has darkened the flame of the candles;

Thus, ever triumphant, resplendent soul!

Your phantom is like the immortal sun!

The house was oddly silent. As Remy came down to the living room, he noticed only half the candles were lit, the curtains were closed and there was no one there. Since Ororo had arrived he would always find the living room enlightened, all windows open, and she would be sitting there doing something to distract herself with once her chores were done. It became familiar to him.

-Etiènne!- He called out.

It took a few minutes before the steps of the valet started to sound into the emptiness of the semi-dark living room. The young man stood in front of him, waiting for orders.

-Where's Ororo?

-Last I've seen her she was going to her room. Do you need me to call her, sir?

-No…let her be. You can go now…get my carriage ready; I'll be going out in a while.

-Yes, sir…

As the valet left, Remy turned on his heels and headed the second floor. For some reason in the past week he had never been able to leave the house without biding her goodbye. He didn't know if it was just out of habit, or something else. He had to be honest, he enjoyed her company, she was an intelligent woman (He didn't know many women he could discuss serious literature with), with a natural kindness about her that was enough to put anyone at ease, not to mention she had to be one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid eyes on. Indeed her company could be quite addictive, especially for someone so used to being on his own, who found so difficult to find interest in anyone. Indeed the way he saw the world and dealt with it found no echo on any of the people he met on a daily basis.

People whose main interests resided in balls, coffee prices and social events…women who insisted on putting on the act of delicate spiritual flowers, when actually their main concerns lay on vicious gossip and poisonous liaisons; men who tried to look and act like perfect noblemen while barely having any education other than that needed to run a plantation, who tortured slaves for fun and acted like they understood politics…Remy looked at all of them from above, with the knowledge that all of those people, with their vanity and all the things they held so dearly, would vanish…Turn to ashes within some decades, their hollow livelihood would leave no trace behind, nothing of greatness or brilliance…Remy would live on to see their fall, and the rise of those after them, and the fall of these…on and on, in a ever repeating cycle of nothingness…

But Ororo…With her he had a glimpse of greatness so many lacked around him… In her mind he could meet again all the heroes and legends he had dreamed of in his long forgotten youth; Don Quixote, Achilles, Sheherazad, Joan of Arc, Odysseus, Charlemagne…She had read it all, she knew them all, she understood them all intimately… She could still grasp with her nimble fingers all those images he had long deserted when faced with the torments of a new life…From those fingers music he had long ago forgotten how to play with any emotion, came alive, even if not always perfect, but with an eagerness to expand and fill the air… In her eyes he saw a hunger to embrace beauty typical of the great mortals.

For she was a mortal, and her mortality was made beautiful by her desire to drink life in.

Unlike others like who went through life without a thought about what was left behind or what was to come in the future, living their numb, stupid, every day reality… Unlike immortals, who have seen everything and felt everything, and to whom life held no taste or surprise…Her mortality flowed from her like the last sounds of an world coming to an end, suspended between eternity and reality, eager to find something worth living for.

Maybe that was so intoxicating about her…maybe that was the reason he could never keep his eyes away from her whenever she opened her mouth, or performed any ordinary everyday task… Watching her had an element of novelty that he imagined would be forever lost to him, imprisoned in eternal, never-changing night.

He reached her room and knocked. No response followed. He tried once again and called her softly. Still silence. He brought his hand to the doorknob, hopping to find it locked. It wasn't.

In spite of himself, Remy opened the door, slowly.

There were a few candles lit inside, on her nightstand. It was more than enough to shed a glow all over the pale pink dress she wore. It spilled around her in folds that reached the floor as she lazily slept in her bed. One bare foot was visible under the hem of the skirt, lightly touching the floorboards like a feather. Her hair was tied, but she must have been sleeping for a while now as some locks escaped the hairpins and cascaded freely over her shoulders made bare by the fact that the dress cleavage was almost undone. She probably had been twisting and turning, for her clothes and hair to be in such disarray…Bad dreams, maybe? He thought. Remy came closer and a slight frowning and the thin layer of sweat over her forehead confirmed his assertion. He wondered what those nightmares that filled her sleep could be…

He stretched a hand out and wiped her brow with the back of his fingers, making sure the touch was slight enough to not wake her. Ororo frowned again, moaned softly and turned her face away from him. In doing so some of her hair had fallen away from her shoulder, giving him a glimpse of her neck…Not too much, just enough for him to see a small vein, unnoticeable to the human eye under such young and fresh skin, but completely obvious to one of his nature…He could see as the blood gently flowed inside the millimetric vessel, exhaling a soft warmth and radiance typical of living creatures.

Automatically, his hand traveled down to her neck and a finger followed the course of the blood under her skin, feeling a small shock as it pulsated under his very cool digits…He leaned in without thinking, the subtle perfume of jasmine mixed into the fragrance natural to her proving to be a much more powerful drug to his system than alcohol or opium…He could already feel the heat emanating from her smooth flesh against his lips, and they weren't even touching her…Suddenly he heard the voice of Etienne coming from far away.

The young man was in the living room. He probably expected his master to be still in the same place waiting for him to prepare the carriage…He could distinctly hear as his valet entered the living room and said "everything ready" to an empty room. Then there was silence; probably the servant waiting for his return…He stood upright and breathed in heavily, his mind returning to the reality…For a moment he wondered what would he have done if Etienne's voice didn't catch his attention…He realized, much to his own surprise, he didn't even know what he was about to do…He looked down at the sleeping woman, realizing his sharp, machine-like instincts had, for the first time in years, failed him. He had just been completely unaware of his actions or surroundings…completely vulnerable… He straightened his jacket and headed the door.

--------------------------

The light was scarce and the air filled with smoke from the lamps, cigars and cigarettes. As he got in, Remy could notice several men gambling by the right, as another group talked loudly with some women at the left, probably boasting about some manly feats…The women merely giggled at their drunken companions, and tossed their hair back, exposing an obscene amount of skin through the exaggeratedly plunging cleavages… From the rooms hidden from the eye of the costumers he could hear sounds that left very little to the imagination…Looking at the bar he saw many other women talking amongst themselves and eyeing the door, as if waiting for somebody to walk in… Blonde, redhead, brunette, black, mulatto and Indian girls exposed like items on a shelf, waiting for the costumer to take his pick. A young blonde, a little more outgoing than some of her colleagues, wearing a tight leather corset and silk stockings that looked almost too good for the place, walked towards him:

-Good evening, monsieur…my name is Desirée…Yours? - She held out a hand and presented herself like they were in a upscale soirée and not a low class bar that doubled as brothel. He decided to play along and bowed, kissing her hand.

-Louis…-He lied. For a moment he pondered what was the point of using a fake name. Maybe it was just for fun.

-How may I help you, Louis?

He looked over her shoulder as she stood closer and noticed another scantly clad woman in the bar. She looked new to the trade, still a little dazed and scared; Remy estimated she wasn't any older than seventeen. Her looks, however, struck him the most: she was tall and her skin had a rich chocolate tone, her brown hair fell down her shoulders in curls and her pale green-hazel eyes shone with the reflections of the candles. Of course she lacked the same grace and ethereal beauty, but at first examination she could easily pass for Ororo´s sister. His eyes narrowed as he felt a strange sense of gratification invade him, very similar to what a child feels when getting a new toy.

-You may introduce me your friend over there…-He told Desirée, gesturing the woman by the counter. The blonde seemed disappointed, but called the other woman.

-Valerie, come over here…this gentleman wants to have a word with you…-She giggled as her companion approached them with some uncertainty. As she left, Desirée told him jokingly- be nice to her…she's still green…

Desirée then disappeared into the crowd, looking for more receptive company, as Remy led Valerie out…

--------------------------

Ororo woke up with a suffocating feeling. She had been sleeping very little lately. Always those nightmares. She couldn't sleep at night because of them and even as she tried to find some rest during the day, she would rapidly drift into sleep and they would return to her.

Sitting up straight, she passed a nervous hand over her forehead. Realizing the candles were almost entirely spent, she got up and went to the living room. After lighting up a few more candles, she opened the windows. Ororo always hated being in confined places; they made her panic… Maybe it had to do with the one time Genevieve locked her inside an armoire as punishment for something she couldn't even recall…Since that day she hated dark, closed places, which was why she always kept the windows of the house open and many candles lit. The fact that Remy had her confined in the house probably wasn't helping either.

She sat on the windowsill and breathed in the cool nightly air. The clock had just struck midnight…Etienne was probably sound sleep by now and Remy as usual wasn't home. The silence in the living room was so deep she could almost hear the sound of her own breathing. Ororo wished she still had some energy left to read or do anything else, but she felt tired. Lately she felt more tired after sleeping than after working…She decided it was better to just head back to her room…even if she couldn't get some sleep, at least getting out of that heavy dress and tight corset would make her feel a little less weary…

She went to the table by the corner to retrieve some candles from the drawer, but as she opened it, something fell with a rustling sound. Looking down she saw it was an envelope, fallen from a little pile of envelopes sitting atop of the table. Etienne usually got the mail and left it there; even if Remy didn't get any personal letters, there was always something the foreman at the farm wished to inform him of, or some party invitations and business correspondence. She picked up the fallen letter, noticing the foreman calligraphy, as she had expected and moved to put it back on the pile. Before she could lay the envelope over the other she noticed something odd. The next letter of the pile had her name written on it. She frowned. Getting the envelope she opened it, wondering who could possibly have sent her a letter. Inside she found only a small note:

"Dear child,

I hope is still Etienne to pick up the mail, and the maid to organize it; this way I know this letter will get to you before falling in Remy´s hands. I understand you were apprehensive to tell me what was going on you mind, but believe me, I noticed something odd. I'm not sure what. But I want you to know that you can count on me if anything happens. I will send one of my servants to you every two days, in the morning to pick up any letter or message you wish to send me. Tomorrow someone will be there to get your answer to this.

Mattie"

--------------------------

Relief was a common feeling after one of his nightly "hunts". But this was a different kind of relief. Not the primal relief of having the biological need of nutrition and energy sated. This felt like…satisfied desire.

Of course Valerie was substitute. She would never completely fulfill the needs he didn't dare to act upon in reality. She was an easier target, someone he wouldn't remember within a few years, or even months; someone he wouldn't have any remorse about. The one he really craved, he would never take… not in this way. Actually, he came to realize, Ororo had awakened in him two completely different kinds of cravings It was just bound to happen to someone condemned to eternally float between humanity and eternity to have them clash one time or another. But he never expected it to happen this way.

Ororo awakened feelings he had left behind with his lost mortality…Because those were feelings only mortals could have; they were nature's disguised way to help them forget they are finite, to give them some consolation from the knowledge of their impending end. That was what gave mortals their will to love, desire, reproduce, care for each other…those things made them forget how small they were, how fragile. Once Remy had left the world of common men, those feelings had no sense. Why reproduce, if you can live forever? Why love if you know no love will be long enough to last as much as your life? Why feeling remorse, doing good deeds, caring for anyone, if you know heaven or hell are not options, and you no longer have a soul to be saved or damned?

But somehow, Ororo managed to bring back those earthly urges. And those feelings were the precise thing keeping him from acting on his most primary desires, those that came with his current condition…He cared about her and yet she made his blood boil with assassin intentions. Part of him wanted to set her free, keep her alive, bright and angelic as she was, as a momentary reminder that there is heaven, and even though he couldn't have it, he would have a little bit of it every time he remembered her…Part of him wanted to bring her down with him, shatter her pristine purity, feed on her, on her blood, on her beauty, have her completely…forever.

Remy got up as the limp body of young Valerie, still warm, fell from his arms onto the bed. He could hear a shallow breathing coming out of her, accompanied by the gurgling sounds of spilling blood. For a moment he imagined the agonizing feeling that was surely overcoming her body; she was gasping for air and not getting any, there was probably too little blood in her to keep her heart going…slow painful death. That wasn't what he meant for her…but for some reason his attack had been less than perfect; all his other victims went fast, but with Valerie he had hesitated and, in doing so, missed the main artery…It was the first time ever he made such mistake… Poor Valerie, her only fault was…looking a little like Ororo. Enough to make him use her as a substitute, a momentary relief from his inner torment…He didn't mean for her to suffer like that…He stretched out both his hands, his palms gripping the sides of her face…as his wrists moved in one sharp twist, he heard a cracking sound. Then she was quiet…He gently smoothed one thick curl behind her ear:

-Je suis desolé, chère enfant…Mais c´est mieux ainsi...La bàs persone peut te faire soufrire comme ici...Repose...Dors

_(Continues...)_

I'm sorry, dear child...But it's better like this...over there no one can make you suffer like (they do) here...Rest...sleep


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

**Tristesses de la lune**

Ce soir, la lune rêve avec plus de paresse;  
Ainsi qu'une beauté, sur de nombreux coussins,  
Qui d'une main distraite et légère caresse  
Avant de s'endormir le contour de ses seins,

Sur le dos satiné des molles avalanches,  
Mourante, elle se livre aux longues pâmoisons,  
Et promène ses yeux sur les visions blanches  
Qui montent dans l'azur comme des floraisons.

Quand parfois sur ce globe, en sa langueur oisive,  
Elle laisse filer une larme furtive,  
Un poète pieux, ennemi du sommeil,

Dans le creux de sa main prend cette larme pâle,  
Aux reflets irisés comme un fragment d'opale,  
Et la met dans son coeur loin des yeux du soleil.

— _Charles Baudelaire_

**Sadness of the Moon**

Tonight the moon dreams with more indolence,  
Like a lovely woman on a bed of cushions  
Who fondles with a light and listless hand  
The contour of her breasts before falling asleep;

On the satiny back of the billowing clouds,  
Languishing, she lets herself fall into long swoons  
And casts her eyes over the white phantoms  
That rise in the azure like blossoming flowers.

When, in her lazy listlessness,  
She sometimes sheds a furtive tear upon this globe,  
A pious poet, enemy of sleep,

In the hollow of his hand catches this pale tear,  
With the iridescent reflections of opal,  
And hides it in his heart afar from the sun's eyes.

"_Mattie,_

_I was relieved to receive your letter. Here I was considering myself all alone in this world, with no help from a living soul; and you come along. The true is…I don't know what to think or what to do. I want to leave this house. This place frightens me. I don't want to be here anymore… This man. I hated him at times. I truly did. He can be cruel and violent…He frightens me and he made me hate him. But…I pity him. Is like I can see something in him, a kind of constant gloom … You know him better than I do; tell me… You said he is a good man, then why does he act like this?… What went wrong in his life? _

_No. Don't tell me anything. I don't want to know._

_I want to be away from here. I don't want to feel this way anymore. I need to leave. Help me…_

_--Ororo"_

—

Remy walked up to his room with heavy steps. It had been a while since a fresh killing left him like that. In the beginning, yes, it was overwhelming…more than overwhelming, it was confusing. A mixture of satisfaction and remorse. But after some time he became numb. He didn't wonder what his victims felt like as he drained the life from their bodies drop after drop; he didn't ask himself if it hurt, he didn't measure the enormity of their fear, he didn't feel the need to comfort them in their final moment.

Today, however, as that young woman lay dying in his arms, gasping for air, crying her very last tears, he wondered. He wondered how it felt like…dying. Relief maybe? To feel free in the last possible second? Or hate? Hate towards him for ripping the soul out of her flesh? Maybe gratitude; for putting an end to her living misery? Or maybe she just ceased to exist all together?

What if there wasn't a soul to be saved in anyone…Maybe all humans are destined to the same non-existence after life; all doomed to eternal darkness…Never feel, never see… to be…nothing. Maybe he was the blessed one; the only true immortal soul, the only one to never be condemned to the abysm of not being. For all he knew, there wasn't any God. If there were, he wouldn't be what he was…then; if there wasn't God, then his burden was lighter than he imagined…No God, no soul…just here and now…after that…nothing.

But for him there would always be something…he was eternal, he would always be… Others would cease and become nothing. Including Valerie…Including… Ororo…

All of the sudden his chest felt hollow. Something inside of him just snapped and went blank. One day she would grow old. One day she would die. And after that? She would be…nothing. If there wasn't God, there wasn't soul, if there wasn't soul, there wasn't salvation…without salvation Ororo was gone forever. Once she let out her last breath…it would be over. Remy would live on…Ororo would perish.

All of the sudden the thought seemed too much to bear…

—

"_Ororo,_

_I feel nothing good can come out of this house for you. It pains me to say that, but Remy isn't the same man I knew. I wish I could tell you why; but I don't think I know the answer to this question… He is a good man; don't doubt that for a minute. But something is wrong._

_If you feel like you must leave this house, by all means do. I'm afraid whatever is wrong with him, I can't fix…_

_What should I do to help you?_

_-Mattie."_

—

Ororo knocked softly on the library door. Remy had been locked in there for the past three days with all windows closed. She started to wonder if he was all right.

-Yes? - His weary voice answered.

-It's me…Ororo…

-Come in, chère…

She opened the door slowly. Inside Remy was sprawled in a chaise longue, piles of books and papers scattered everywhere. He looked tired; his shirt was undone, his feet bare, his hair tussled. One hand clutched a book; the other one covered his eyes, as if he was experimenting a monstrous migraine.

-Are you all right?

-Yes…quite all right, thank you…-He answered wearily, before shifting to lay on his side, curled up.

In spite of herself, Ororo felt bad. He looked almost sick, as if something was tormenting him. The woman looked away, fighting away her natural instinct of getting worried… She moved to leave; but he kept talking.

-Ororo?-

-Yes? - She turned.

-Come here…please

Ororo stood where she was, unsure of what to do. Finally she moved towards him and sat on the armchair besides the chaise.

-I'm tired. -He sighed, his eyes staring blankly at an indefinite point.

-Maybe you should rest for a moment. You've been here for three days and…

-That's not what I mean…I'm just…tired…of it all…-His voice was barely a whisper. Ororo had to lean in to understand the words he uttered.

-Of what?… If I may ask…-She asked softly.

-Everything. I just…-a long pause, followed by a sigh- tell me…were you ever happy?

She concentrated on the bizarre question for a while. Finally, after a few minutes, she answered him.

-At moments…I guess, everybody has moments of happiness…

-Even a slave?

-Yes…even a slave…we're people too…

-This is not what I meant…I mean…if you have such a curse hovering over your head…this inescapable situation of being slave to someone…or something…is it possible a moment of happiness?

-Yes…If you keep your soul intact…then I guess even the most worst things can't keep you from having at least a moment of happiness…

-Even if you know you're situation is hopeless…

-No situation is hopeless…

-What if I told you…my soul isn't intact? What if I told you…-He stopped again, as if afraid of saying the next words; or maybe feeling they were too hard to say.- I've lost it?

-I'm sure you wouldn't mean that.

He looked up to her, his dark eyes staring firmly into her ocean blue ones.

-What if I meant it?

-I would tell you every soul could be saved.

-Even if I lost it?

-You can't loose what doesn't belong to you. Our soul belongs to a mightier power.

-God? -He chuckled, with childish disbelief.

-You can call it that.

He was silent for a while. Ororo wondered if he had been drinking again.

-Ororo?…

-Yes?

-Would you pray for me?…

-I beg your pardon?

-Would you pray for me? I'm sure if this…mightier power of yours exists…it might be more inclined to hear your prayers than mine…Would you, please, pray for me?

-Sure. I will.

-Thank you…

—

Ororo closed her eyes, fighting back a headache.

The sight of Remy Lebeau in such a pitiful condition left her astonished. She never imagined he could ever look so…vulnerable. For a moment it seemed she was in front of a little boy, and not the irascible slave master of a few weeks ago. In fact, after the library incident, the slave master had not shown his face again…In his place there was a different Remy Lebeau…a sad, melancholic man, with a soft voice that spoke kind and enigmatic words…a man capable of generous acts, such as building a conservatory without asking anything in return…just for the sake of apologizing.

Ororo started to wonder if all of that didn't arise from his need to not be alone. She became convinced that Remy needed to have someone around. This was the reason for the constant parties, for his staying in the sitting room merely for the sake of watching her as she worked or played the piano, of giving her a luxurious gift when he felt her drifting away in anger.

He was unstable and lonely. In fact he became unstable when left alone. The day he nearly attacked her in the library, he had gone all alone in the city…even now, after three days on his own, locked away in the library he looked just miserable. In the days he went to conservatory and asked her to read he was completely different. He was calm, peaceful…he even laughed. Not the charming, blasé laugh he used in front of other people, but an open, airy, boyish laughter. After hearing of his father death, Ororo started to wonder if the cause didn't lay there…Maybe he was afraid of being without support or guidance like he was then…She could surely understand that…she felt the same almost everyday.

Ororo shook her head. She shouldn't be dwelling in this kind of thoughts. Remy Lebeau was a slave master; someone she should run away from, not feel sympathy for… Closing the latest letter from Mattie she reached for the paper and forced herself to write.

—

"_Mattie, _

_I'm sending you part of what I have to ensure my liberty. This envelope contains two diamond rings, a pearl necklace, three pairs of golden earrings, and a sapphire bracelet. I have more jewels with me. He doesn't know about them…please, find a jeweler to evaluate and buy them."_

_-Ororo_

_Ps.: I´ll send you more pieces within a few days."_

—

Every other day Mattie wrapped the fine pieces of jewelry in a soft piece of discreet cotton fabric and headed the to jeweler appointed to her by a friend. Casting a first glance over them, she immediately realized Ororo had a small fortune in her hands. It was necessary to find the best jeweler to get their value worth.

For a week to come Ororo would send her a little package filled with precious stones and Mattie would send back envelopes filled with money. She hoped she was doing the right thing. Ororo was confused; even though she believe Remy would never harm her, it was better for the girl to stay away from him…just to be safe. By the end of two weeks Ororo had enough run away, leave the country and still have some bracelets and necklaces intact to begin her life somewhere else.

Putting the latest envelope in her messenger's hands, Mattie took a deep sigh of relief, as the young boy disappeared into the night heading the Lebeau house.

—

Ororo walked into the conservatory, holding Mattie's latest letter in her hands. She had made it a habit of hers to read in the glittering semi darkness of the conservatory. She felt much safer there, in her private glass box than into the house.

The letter told her what already knew from her calculations: finally she had enough money to ensure her freedom. Ororo thought she would be thrilled to read the news. Strangely she wasn't. If anything she felt empty. For some reason knowing she could be free soon provoked on her the strangest feeling. Not quite bad…and yet not quite good.

Inside the house, the candles of Remy´s room were lit, and she looked over, wondering what he was doing. After their last conversation, he became more and more morose and increasingly depressive. Every time he looked at her, his eyes would lower and darken. He had been quite taken with spiritual literature lately. Whenever she went into the library to put order in his books, she would find all kinds of philosophic books in his worktable. Saint Augustine, Abelard, Dante Alighieri…He had been reading, studying, making notes; which was strange for a bon vivant like him…

It was almost as if he was looking for something…

Never mind; she thought. It was none of her concern. She reached for the book that sat on the table in front of her and opened it, revealing a deep square hole, patiently carved into the pages. Inside the pile of money Mattie had sent her was safely kept with all the letters she received. Now all she had to do was plan her next actions. Closing the makeshift safe, she leaned in, feeling that sense of nervousness and apprehension that always preceded big decisions. Ororo tried to quiet her heart. Soon it would be over.

-Ororo?- A male voice crept up from behind her.

Ororo had been so deep into her musings, she never noticed Remy coming into the conservatory. After days of being isolated, she didn't expect him to come down and meet her there. Probably he was feeling better and wanted to resume their reading sessions. Feeling her heart drop to her feet like a child caught misbehaving, she couldn't do anything but look at him with wide eyes.

-What are you doing?

-I…I was reading. –She cursed the honesty she was taught by her father. Damn her, why couldn't she lie without stuttering?

He raised an eyebrow and looked at the book she clutched tensely in her elegant fingers. He reached over and gently took it from her, as if it was just any object he was curious about, not a muscle of his face denouncing any tension. She let her hands fall off the hard cover, limp, resigned and hopeless like the feet of a man walking to the scaffold. She shut her eyes and straightened in her chair, assuming the stoic and calm façade she learned to put on so well while being abused by Genevieve, that usually drove the old witch mad with anger. But she knew it wouldn't work with Remy Lebeau.

He lifted a envelope and read the first line, then his eyes fell on money bills. He raised his eyes to look at her. Feeling watched she looked back and found his face oddly calm. Then he spoke:

-What is that supposed to mean?

(Continues…)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter IV**

Hymne à la Beauté 

Viens-tu du ciel profond ou sors-tu de l'abîme,

O Beauté? ton regard, infernal et divin,

Verse confusément le bienfait et le crime,

Et l'on peut pour cela te comparer au vin.

Tu contiens dans ton oeil le couchant et l'aurore;

Tu répands des parfums comme un soir orageux;

Tes baisers sont un philtre et ta bouche une amphore

Qui font le héros lâche et l'enfant courageux.

Sors-tu du gouffre noir ou descends-tu des astres?

Le Destin charmé suit tes jupons comme un chien;

Tu sèmes au hasard la joie et les désastres,

Et tu gouvernes tout et ne réponds de rien.

Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques;

De tes bijoux l'Horreur n'est pas le moins charmant,

Et le Meurtre, parmi tes plus chères breloques,

Sur ton ventre orgueilleux danse amoureusement.

L'éphémère ébloui vole vers toi, chandelle,

Crépite, flambe et dit: Bénissons ce flambeau!

L'amoureux pantelant incliné sur sa belle

A l'air d'un moribond caressant son tombeau.

Que tu viennes du ciel ou de l'enfer, qu'importe,

Ô Beauté! monstre énorme, effrayant, ingénu!

Si ton oeil, ton souris, ton pied, m'ouvrent la porte

D'un Infini que j'aime et n'ai jamais connu?

De Satan ou de Dieu, qu'importe? Ange ou Sirène,

Qu'importe, si tu rends, — fée aux yeux de velours,

Rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine! —

L'univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds?

— Charles Baudelaire

Hymn to Beauty 

Do you come from Heaven or rise from the abyss,

Beauty? Your gaze, divine and infernal,

Pours out confusedly benevolence and crime,

And one may for that, compare you to wine.

You contain in your eyes the sunset and the dawn;

You scatter perfumes like a stormy night;

Your kisses are a philtre, your mouth an amphora,

Which make the hero weak and the child courageous.

Do you come from the stars or rise from the black pit?

Destiny, bewitched, follows your skirts like a dog;

You sow at random joy and disaster,

And you govern all things but answer for nothing.

You walk upon corpses which you mock, O Beauty!

Of your jewels Horror is not the least charming,

And Murder, among your dearest trinkets,

Dances amorously upon your proud belly.

The dazzled moth flies toward you, O candle!

Crepitates, flames and says: "Blessed be this flambeau!"

The panting lover bending o'er his fair one

Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb,

Whether you come from heaven or from hell, who cares,

O Beauty! Huge, fearful, ingenuous monster!

If your regard, your smile, your foot, open for me

An Infinite I love but have not ever known?

From God or Satan, who cares? Angel or Siren,

Who cares, if you make, — fay with the velvet eyes,

Rhythm, perfume, glimmer; my one and only queen!

The world less hideous, the minutes less leaden?

Ororo merely looked up at him, silent as a tomb. He might as well do as he pleased, she thought to herself, but she would say nothing,. He could punish her if so he wanted, but Ororo was decided to not open her mouth to make excuses or explanations as if she had committed some kind of crime. That victory she wouldn't give him Remy closed the book-safe loudly and held her gaze with stone cold eyes.

-I asked you something, chère.

- I have nothing to explain.

-So be like this.- He set the book on the table and grabbed her arm. Ororo thought of resisting, but come to think of it, what was really the point? Fighting him would only make things worse so she got to her feet and followed, as calmly as she could while he dragged her back to the house. He forced her to climb up the stairs and both headed her room, Remy in quick steps, almost running, and Ororo stumbling on her dress, trying to keep up with him. She refused to just be dragged around like a rag doll; he wanted her to follow him, then she would do it with her own feet, Ororo thought stubbornly.

Finally they got there. He released her abruptly and she fell forwards, still propelled by their walks' momentum. Throwing her hands forward she prevented the hard fall onto the ground and quickly got up to her feet and faced him, with a sheer boldness that left him speechless for a moment. Any other woman would be begging him not to hurt her, sobbing or crying for help. In spite of his rage, Remy was in awe. He wondered if she would be so courageous if she knew all about him. She was determined to not let him overpower her once again, Remy could read it in her eyes. Ororo would just stand there and take whatever he could do to her bravely; he knew he could not bring himself to hurt her, but the defiant look in her eyes let him she was ready for anything. For a moment, a hint of shame made its way into his mind, but it the heat of his rage evaporated it quickly. How could she challenge him like that? Look at him that way, as if he was some kind of worthless maniac, a dangerous animal? How dared she think so little of him, when he had gone through such effort to prove he devoted her nothing but affection?

-You won't tell me anything?

-No.

-So I'll just have to go through that book and find out by myself…-He spat out, hoping to scare her.

-As you wish…sir.-The last word came soaked in venom.

-And you…-He clenched his jaw- you'll stay here, until I say otherwise. Give me the key.

Ororo calmly retrieved the key from the nightstand and handled it to him; she then, sat down and crossed her arms, provoking him further with her unnerving coolness. Feeling his blood boil, Remy turned on his heels and slammed the door shut, locking it. As he left the second floor and headed the first, to look for Etienne, he saw the valet coming his way, alarmed by all the noise:

-What's going on, Sir? Is Ororo all right?

-You! Nail that door shut!

-Which door?

-Ororo´s. Nail it shut and put some heavy piece of furniture in front of it. I don't want her to leave that damn room until I say otherwise!

-B-but…why would you…I mean…Ororo…-Etienne stuttered, confused.

-Just do as I say!

--------------

Ororo let out a deep sigh of relief as she heard Remy´s steps moving away.

This was not over yet; Ororo knew that once Remy read those letters, she could expect the worst. He would punish her, maybe get rid of her; he could sell her to somebody, maybe send her to the cotton fields…She shook her head and dismissed the thoughts before her panic grew. For now, she had the rest of the night to think up something, and unless he killed her, she would start all over again. Mentally she counted her resources: she still had jewels left and Mattie was still out there to help her. If everything else failed, she would run away with nothing but the clothes in her back. But Remy would not hold her in that house.

If anything, his rage only straightened her resolve to leave. He might own her legally, but Ororo would show him he could never own her entirely.

--------------

Leaving the shocked young man behind, Remy made his way back to the conservatory. He closed the door of the flowered sanctum he had built for Ororo and sat down, trying to calm his rage.

So, she kept secrets from him? She went behind his back, lied to him…He had given her a conservatory, he had humiliated himself for her forgiveness, he stayed by her side, talked to her, asked her from advice, provided her with everything she needed, from books to a piano, he was kind to her, he let her live like the mistress of the house would…She should know better than to hide things from him. She should know there was nothing he wouldn't voluntarily give her if she only asked. Had he not proved his affection for her, had he not given her enough evidence to convince her that he cherished her and her company?

He reached for the book and read the letters, one by one, eagerly, stumbling on words.

After taking in the last word of the last letter, Remy felt his rage subside, replaced by an enormous frustration. So, he thought to himself, that was what she wanted. He let his head fall back heavily as if weighted like a ball of lead, his eyes staring blankly at the dark blue velvet of the night sky above the colored glass.

She wanted to leave.

Not his affection, not his kindness, not the comfort he could provide her…All she wanted was to be free…How could he be so blind; so stupid as to not consider this? No, he did consider it. Ororo couldn't settle for a life of servitude…No person in their right mind would; that was obvious. The only reason he failed to predict that was because he didn't want to think about it. Stubbornly he refused to accept that behind the beautiful face, the graceful body and the refined manners and wit, there was a woman forced into slavery. He just decided to blissfully ignore that fact and pretend she would be satisfied with his attentions and stay submissive to him.

The truth was, he ignored all of that because he was afraid of thinking what would everything be like once she decided to leave him. Afraid to get back to the dark place he had been before her…

Remy knew he would never have the guts to stop her if she wanted to leave. If she said it with all the words, that she wanted to leave, he would let her go. He knew she was strong enough to have her way, and he was already too weakened by her captivating charms to deny her anything. So he was desperate to make her stay on her own volition, desperate to make her need his presence as much as he needed hers.

But he failed.

A weary smile curled his lips…Why would she? He was the one who needed her; the one who needed her beauty so he could believe there was a God, her kindness so there was some light in his life, her voice and music to see to give some sacrality to his profane existence; he was the one who needed her to feel like he had a soul. Ororo didn't need him…She was whole, serene, determined, free of crimes, good… All she really needed was to get away from him before he infected her and made her like him: empty, evil.

He had been foolish. Pathetically foolish to feed any hopes. But at least, now he knew he could still have hope. It was something…

--------------

Two days…

Ororo curled up in her bed, weary, exhausted. Two days locked in that room. At first she had panicked…She cried for hours in a row, hoping, with her stubborn pride, no one could hear her sobs across the walls, then she got sick; physically ill. She could barely lift a finger, and even when Etienne brought her food she didn't feel enough energy to take a bite out of it.

Then, finally, she was resigned.

Probably that was her punishment. To stay locked until she explained herself, or went crazy, whatever came first. If that was it, then she could just sit and wait. Collecting all the scattered bits of her composure, she washed, changed into the lightest garments she had, did her hair into a simple braid and waited. Remy was probably expecting to break her into submission.

Maybe he would succeed, but he would have to wait…a long time…

On the night of the second day, however, her waiting came to an end. Much to her astonishment, she heard the loud sound of the heavy piece of furniture that secured her door being moved, and the locks being undone, one by one… the door opened slowly. Etienne emerged on the room and told her with a voice that, oddly enough, sounded cheery:

-The master wishes to see you…

She got up and followed him to the library. As they got there, the door opened letting out two men: Remy and an elderly gentleman in a black suit, holding a briefcase in his hand. She saw as they shook hands and Remy thanked him for agreeing to come over so late.

As the guest walked away, Remy made waved his hand at Etienne and the young valet walked away to escort the old man to the door, leaving Ororo and Remy alone in front of the library door. She shuddered, trying hard not to imagine what was going to happen next.

-Come in…-He said with no emotion.

She entered the library and took a seat in front of his desk as he indicated her to. He, then, closed the door and walked towards a cabinet with bizarre tranquility retrieving a black box from one of the drawers and walking back to stand in front of her on the opposite side of the desk.

-Do you recognize these?- He asked, pouring the contents of the box all over his desk and a myriad of earrings, rings, necklaces and bracelets fell loudly on the wooden surface, sparkling under the candlelight like dozens of multi-colored stars.

-Yes.

-You sold them. To get away from me…

-I did.- She continued to agree, absent mindedly.

-Was that all?

-Yes.-Ororo lied, hoping to keep one last hope.

-So, if I send Etienne to search your room, he won't find any other jewels?

She gasped. Remy merely walked out and called the valet, telling him to look for the other jewels. Within ten minutes, the blond man came back and gave him the last pieces of jewelry walking out afterwards. Ororo didn't dare looking up at neither man as they exchanged brief words, and felt her shoulders getting heavier with each minute that passed, the suspense was torturing, almost making her wish Remy would just do something, even if no matter what. She watched tensely as Remy put all the gems back in the box and closed it; then, he sat down and opened a drawer, never casting a glance her way. He laid a piece of paper in front of her and ordered her to read.

-But…this is…-Her eyes widened, as the words in the document started to make sense to her wrecked mind and wild amazement washed away her other coherent thoughts.

-Yes. You're a free woman now…That man you saw leaving is a notary, he just left with a signed copy to register in the public office.

-B-but…I don't understand…

His face darkened for a moment, then he grinned sadly, shaking his head:

-Chère…-He looked at her straight in the eye, his words coming out of his mouth in drops, as if each one scratched his throat in the way out, causing him to take little pauses in between them to avoid the pain- I would love to keep you here…with me…forever. Truth is, I…need you here… I want you to stay. But if you don't want to be here, as much as it pains me…I must set you free…I must be fair with you…

His hand disappeared into the drawer once again and he retrieved a large number of money bills, placing them on top of the black box.

- I went to Mattie and she gave me the jeweler's address. He provided me the names of the buyers and the records of his profits. I bought the jewels back and now I give you your father's gifts back, the money I found in that book and the equivalent sum of the profits the jeweler made reselling them. Everything is rightfully yours. Mattie is waiting outside with a carriage; she agreed to take you to her house while you don't find another place. Now go.

-What?! She looked at him confused, still not understanding his words, or expecting them to be some kind of morbid joke.

-You heard me. Go. I don't want you to stay here.. –He told her, making a painful effort to keep his eyes on hers.

-I…I can't take all of this money…

-Don't worry. I don't need it. Take everything. The jewels, the money, the dresses, the books and music sheets I've given you…Please take everything-His voice was slowly becoming more strangled

- I can't…I'll take the jewels back, but…-She told him sharply, regaining her usual proud attitude, her hard resolve making her refuse to take any favors from him.

-No "buts"…Take everything. Or you think I'll ever let any other woman dress those garments? Or touch those books? … I would never…take them, they are yours, everything I gave you is yours…now, please leave…and don't come back anymore.

-What?

-That's my sole condition. Don't ever come back here anymore. And if you can find in your heart to grant me one last request…Leave New Orleans. For my sake go as far away as you can and never come back…

-But…why?-She asked pathetically, too bewildered to think straight.

-Because…If I see you walking in the street someday, if I stumble upon you in the future…I'm not sure my heart won't break again…-He told her, earnestly.

-What?

-Yes…you heard it right…You, _jour de ma vie_ (1), reminded me I have a heart…and I both hate and love you for that…You don't know yet, and I hope to God you'll never have to know, but… leaving this house today you are both saving what's left of my humanity, and your own life. So I beg of you, have mercy and leave me…leave me and never come back….

(1) "Light of my life"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

**Le Poison**

Le vin sait revêtir le plus sordide bouge  
D'un luxe miraculeux,  
Et fait surgir plus d'un portique fabuleux  
Dans l'or de sa vapeur rouge,  
Comme un soleil couchant dans un ciel nébuleux.

L'opium agrandit ce qui n'a pas de bornes,  
Allonge l'illimité,  
Approfondit le temps, creuse la volupté,  
Et de plaisirs noirs et mornes  
Remplit l'âme au delà de sa capacité.

Tout cela ne vaut pas le poison qui découle  
De tes yeux, de tes yeux verts,  
Lacs où mon âme tremble et se voit à l'envers...  
Mes songes viennent en foule  
Pour se désaltérer à ces gouffres amers.

Tout cela ne vaut pas le terrible prodige  
De ta salive qui mord,  
Qui plonge dans l'oubli mon âme sans remords,  
Et charriant le vertige,  
La roule défaillante aux rives de la mort!

— _Charles Baudelaire_

**Poison**

Wine knows how to adorn the most sordid hovel  
With marvelous luxury  
And make more than one fabulous portal appear  
In the gold of its red mist  
Like a sun setting in a cloudy sky.

Opium magnifies that which is limitless,  
Lengthens the unlimited,  
Makes time deeper, hollows out voluptuousness,  
And with dark, gloomy pleasures  
Fills the soul beyond its capacity.

All that is not equal to the poison which flows  
From your eyes, from your green eyes,  
Lakes where my soul trembles and sees its evil side...  
My dreams come in multitude  
To slake their thirst in those bitter gulfs.

All that is not equal to the awful wonder  
Of your biting saliva,  
Charged with madness, that plunges my remorseless soul  
Into oblivion  
And rolls it in a swoon to the shores of death.

—

-Are you feeling well? - Mattie asked softly as the carriage strolled down the street.

-Yes…I…I've made it…I'm free…right? -Ororo clutched the black box between her fingers, nervously.

Mattie gently pulled a few strands of milky white hair away from her face and lightly ran the back of her fingers over her cheek, in a motherly caress.

-You'll feel better after changing and sleeping a little…

-Mattie…

-Yes, child?

-He…how did he…I mean…

-He came to me with the letters and asked me what that was going on…I told him…I told him you didn't want to stay there…that you were…afraid…

-You did?

-I'm sorry; I know I shouldn't have…But, yes I did…I…I asked him what was going on…what he had been up to…

-Mattie…

-He didn't say anything…

-Because nothing happened…It's just… I just needed to be away from him…do you understand?

-Ororo… How do you feel about him?

-I beg your pardon?

-I'm old …I've seen just about everything in my life…I know when a woman is charmed by a man…I suppose that made even harder for you to be his "property", right?

-Mattie, please…

-I won't ask anything else. If you don't want to tell me, then don't.

For a long minute all they could hear was the throttle of the horses into the night, as the dark streets of New Orleans passed by the carriage window.

-Mattie…I –Ororo said in a low, strangled voice, barely audible over the carriage noise-…I would be damned before admitting it to him…I'll get over it…I promise…

-I know, my child…I know.

—

-Sir…What's happening? Ororo just…-Etienne asked astonished as Remy caught his cape and prepared to go out.

-She's gone…for good, Etienne…

-But…-After a moment of hesitation the blond-haired man decided to let it be.

-Get the carriage…

Etienne did as told in a hurry, nervous. He didn't remember seeing his master so altered; even if the voice and gestures were as cool and collected as ever, his eyes were sparkling like flames were ready to burst out of the dark orbs and set the valet on fire. It was true, many a time, he had been suspicious of Remy´s odd behavior, but Etienne was never one to let suspicions get in the way of his good judgment; but now, he was starting to get afraid….

He almost felt relieved to drop Remy off in one of those low brothels he went to at times. It was odd enough though, since it had been a few weeks the gentleman didn't go to those place, not with Etienne at least…But still, as Remy stepped out of the carriage and walked in, Etienne felt better, almost as if a menace had just been lifted.

He wondered what Ororo going could have to do with Remy´s disposition. Because he knew that was something connecting both things…Being a servant had taught him to be both discreet and vigilant; and in the past months, in spite of himself, he had noticed things… The strange exchanges of looks, the hours passed in the conservatory, the long silence, the piano playing mellow tunes everyday…There was something there…Not that it was any of his business. He had long ago decided to let the events unfold all by themselves and just keep quiet, ignoring everything. He respected his master, and Ororo had become quite dear to him, so he decided not to intrude. But now…Ororo was gone and Remy was…different…He started to wonder if, maybe his conjectures were correct after all…

—

Why did he come back here? …It was the exact place were he had met Valerie, and he had been the last client of hers… It was risky…Maybe that was the precise reason for him to come…

Remy closed the door behind his back and looked around, examining the room. His eyes immediately fell upon a loud group of men playing cards. The game should be interesting, as all the women in the room surrounded the players as they cursed loudly and boasted about their achievements. He moved over to the almost empty counter and ordered himself some absinthe.

As the acid green liquid was poured on a thick glass, he kept observing his surroundings. A few of the women seemed to grow bored with watching the game and started to wander around. One of them looked his way. It was a young brunette, pale, and probably not very healthy, her looks already too tainted by the debauched life she led. Nevertheless she was beautiful. Lifting the drinks to his lips, he held her gaze shamelessly, reclining his upper torso over the back of the chair, making sure she noticed him. She walked over, and he gestured the bartender to pour a second glass of absinthe, pulling out a chair by his side.

—

Ororo looked over to the boxes pilled in a corner of the room. Mattie had a simple house, but quite comfortable and with enough space for a whole family to live in. Mattie lived alone, but the neighbors and friends always came over, so even if Mattie lived alone there was a very lively and warm feel to the house that put Ororo quite at ease as soon as she stepped in.

Mattie had given her a bedroom close to hers, and got a pair of young boys to carry all of her stuff in. Now, as she prepared to go to bed, Ororo merely gazed at the boxes, where all the clothes Remy had given her, all the books, music sheets…everything packed neatly. All that was hers, all he had given her…everything…Expurgated from his house, from his life…without a second thought…simple as throwing a disposable possession away… In the end that was all she represented to him: a property. When she decided to sell the jewels, she had had doubts. Many a time, she wondered if it was the right thing to do, if she really wanted to be away from him…She wanted to be free, that was for sure, but did she want to be away from him?

But now she saw all those doubts were vain…Remy disposed of her easily, and she should have expected…She was a slave, nothing more. And once she didn't attend to his expectations he disposed of her as he would a broken vase or a wobbly chair…She should be happy it was this way, because of this, she was finally free, to go wherever she wanted, to live her life however she please…He didn't care enough to stop her…

Then why; why wasn't she happy?

—

-She left?

-Yes…Apparently Monsieur Lebeau grew tired of his little toy…-Came the answer, followed by giggles.

-So he threw her out?

-So I heard…

The comments spread all over. Remy could hear the low murmur every time he walked into a ball or a soirée. Even the murder of yet another prostitute, nearby the location young Valerie's body was found seemed to get as much attention as Ororo leaving his house. Oddly enough, this murder was far less announcing than the other two. Remy grinned acidly. Three prostitutes, nothing more…three prostitutes could just be exanguinated one after the other and all people cared about was his liaison with Ororo.

People are just petty like this…

He merely walked, in his calm and elegant pace, examining the party goers, showering the young ladies with attention, laughing inside as their mothers pathetically urged them to get near him and try to get his eyes. Not that they needed much encouragement. Remy knew any of those young ladies would prefer him over the other bachelors available in town, all prematurely old and much too boring.

Remy on the other hand…He had the enough money to charm the parents and enough charm to win over the daughters. It was funny to see how those eager mothers rushed to push their young daughter on his lap, as soon as they heard of Ororo leaving his house. If only they knew what lay beneath the façade of the man they so shamelessly offered their daughters to, they'd probably think twice…

For the sake of amusement, he decided to humor them…Yes, he would flatter those young girls to no end, conquer them, make them want him…all the while unknowing of the fact that they sought the devil…

For he was the devil. A devil not even the purest angel could break…Compared to her all those young doll faces faded…all of them were mediocre, their beauty was a mockery, a bleak imitation, all their mannerisms grotesque, all of them just dust…Dirty, pitiful little grains of dust, compared to a shimmering star. A star that now lay safely in her bed, in Mattie's house, probably having pleasant dreams or making plans. Plans for her future, plans that involved a husband, children, a house of her own, a piano to play…A star brilliant and far beyond his reach, pure, untouchable. As it should be.

The other women…He could play with them…young hearts to shatter, warm bodies to hunt. The satisfaction of his lust, of his hunger; he could get that anywhere, from anyone… But Ororo…his pristine evening star, cold and distant, the only one that mattered, queen compared to others…she was safe.

Away from her innocent eyes, he could dwell in the destiny that had been given him, by whatever cruel God or demon that ruled the world. Now that the angel was safe, he could resume being what he was…a devil.

—

-Oh, my God...-Mattie muttered under her breath.

Ororo lay her cup of coffe down on the table and looked at the older woman :

-What´s wrong...

-One more girl was killed...

-That´s the fourth one! Good God...-Ororo gasped

Mattie shook her head and closed the newspaper, returning to her breakfast.

-You should leave town soon...Now this monster is not just killing prostitutes. This last one was a nurse...This city isn´t safe for a young woman with no family...

-You think it was the same person ?

-What do I know...-Mattie coughed.-But it sure seems like it...So, have you decided anything yet ?

-Not yet...But I´ve been doing a lot of thinking...I guess I´ll head to Haiti. One of the girls that worked in my father´s property is living there. Her husband managed to buy her freedom, now they have a little farm...Maybe I should head there...To be honest I wanted to remain here...with you. Mattie, you´re the closest thing to family I have now...

-But you must go...New Orleans is not a good place for you...I know some people in Haiti, I was born there you, know ? Just came to New Orleans when I was twelve...Maybe you could look for some of my relatives, if you say I sent you, they´ll sure give you somewhere to stay...

-Thank you, Mattie...

—

Etienne held the reins and let the horses calm and stop smoothly. As soon as the carriage was still, he heard as the couple stumbled outside. Remy and a "lady friend". Both looked heavily intoxicated, Remy laughed sharply, saying things Etienne couldn't understand from where he was, and wasn't quite sure he wanted to. The woman she was with was a prostitute; the valet didn't need to be told, he just knew she was. No decent woman roamed the streets at that hour, drinking, wearing that kind of dress and so much make up.

She was so drunk, she could barely walk. Etienne watched as Remy supported her weight and led her into the house. The young man knew Remy entertained himself with women, but he never had brought one home. But that was the second one this week he brought over. That behavior was starting to bother Etienne…Not that he had any say in the matter, but that just wasn't like his master…

He shook his head and decided it was time to go. Remy had given him the night off, and he intended to make the best of the offer. He didn't really want to be home that night. Instead he would go over to one of his friends´ house, drink, talk, and maybe spend the night He was tired worrying about his master's antics. As soon as he took the horses back to the stables, he wondered away…

—

Remy watched as the intoxicated blonde wondered around his room, babbling about the rich furniture and the paintings in the walls…Like a child in candy shop, she was marveled by each chandelier, every chair, every piece of tapestry…He just let her be, enjoy the surroundings, let her be happy a little…

He sat on the windowsill and watched as Etienne left. His eyes wondered over the stars above his head, then back to the lights of the city, faint spots of dirty yellowish light from the candles and oil lamps, their glow almost nothing compared to the thick darkness of the night…He tried to ignore the giggles and naïve remarks of the woman, and concentrated on finding Mattie's house. He knew the direction to it, he had gone there so many times that he could find it from the window of his room easily.

There were no lights in her house.

The two of them should be sleeping by now. He knew Ororo was, she never stayed up late. Remy closed his eyes and tried to imagine her. He could almost see the curvaceous form laying lazily under soft blankets, her tender breast waving lightly with every even, calm breath, her face's pure lines completely relaxed, her full lips parted, maybe with a sigh caused by some pleasant dream, the waves of her hair descending madly all over the pillows like rays of moonlight shining over the hills…She should be a sight to see, a vision to adore…a vision that could make anyone drop to their knees, a sleeping virgin Mary…

-That's gorgeous!- He heard the blonde beam, behind him. Remy turned to see her holding up a necklace, a golden sequence of little links, shaped like tiny grapevine leafs with a single oval, blood red ruby hanging from it. Remy had allowed himself this little dishonesty, taking one of Ororo´s jewels out of the lot, before returning them… He kept it in his room, and countless times he had spent hours holding it in his hand, playing with it between his nimble fingers, caressing each link, his mind wandering away, imagining the bloody ruby as it lay on her smooth dark skin, imagining how it would feel to put it on her neck, taking the time to run the tips of his fingers all the way from her collarbone over to her elegant shoulders, until he could send shivers down her spine by gently wiping away some whips of white hair from the back of her neck.

Irritation built within him, seeing that sacred token being handled by the hands of that vulgar little woman. He was about to tell her to leave it alone, when she decided to put it on herself and look in the mirror.

-It looks good on me, don't you think? - She smiled at him.

-Take it off.-He told her abruptly.

-What? You don't like it? Or does it belong to someone special?

He got up and walked towards her. His eyes narrowed, as he hissed:

-I told you to take it off…

She looked at him, astonished, starting to grow uncomfortable.

-All right, all right…don't need to be upset, mon beau…- She smiled coquettishly, probably imagining her charm would work with him as it did with all the others. She turned back to the mirror and took her time, admiring herself. Instead of taking off the necklace, she looked at him through the mirror and raised both her hands to the clasp of the jewels, purring softly.

-Help me with that?

Remy took two steps forward, until his body was touching hers. She shivered and closed her eyes as his chest was pressed against her back. She relaxed into him, as he pulled her close and started planting warm kisses all the way up her neck; with another little purr she let her head fall back on his shoulder, giving him more creamy white skin to taste. The blonde let out a little delighted squeak, as he pulled the necklace off her neck and raised both his hands to grasp her shoulders and bring her closes.

The woman was so taken by his caresses that once his teeth started to sink into her flesh, she merely moaned, imagining it was some sort of erotic game, until she felt the sharp canines digging hard into her carotid.

But it was too late to scream then…

(Continues…)


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX Le Balcon 

Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses,  
Ô toi, tous mes plaisirs! ô toi, tous mes devoirs!  
Tu te rappelleras la beauté des caresses,  
La douceur du foyer et le charme des soirs,  
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses!

Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon,  
Et les soirs au balcon, voilés de vapeurs roses.  
Que ton sein m'était doux! que ton coeur m'était bon!  
Nous avons dit souvent d'impérissables choses  
Les soirs illumines par l'ardeur du charbon.

Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!  
Que l'espace est profond! que le coeur est puissant!  
En me penchant vers toi, reine des adorées,  
Je croyais respirer le parfum de ton sang.  
Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!

La nuit s'épaississait ainsi qu'une cloison,  
Et mes yeux dans le noir devinaient tes prunelles,  
Et je buvais ton souffle, ô douceur! ô poison!  
Et tes pieds s'endormaient dans mes mains fraternelles.  
La nuit s'épaississait ainsi qu'une cloison.

Je sais l'art d'évoquer les minutes heureuses,  
Et revis mon passé blotti dans tes genoux.  
Car à quoi bon chercher tes beautés langoureuses  
Ailleurs qu'en ton cher corps et qu'en ton coeur si doux?  
Je sais l'art d'évoquer les minutes heureuses!

Ces serments, ces parfums, ces baisers infinis,  
Renaîtront-ils d'un gouffre interdit à nos sondes,  
Comme montent au ciel les soleils rajeunis  
Après s'être lavés au fond des mers profondes?  
— Ô serments! ô parfums! ô baisers infinis!

— _Charles Baudelaire_

The Balcony 

Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses,  
O you, all my pleasure, O you, all my duty!  
You'll remember the sweetness of our caresses,  
The peace of the fireside, the charm of the evenings.  
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!

The evenings lighted by the glow of the coals,  
The evenings on the balcony, veiled with rose mist;  
How soft your breast was to me! how kind was your heart!  
We often said imperishable things,  
The evenings lighted by the glow of the coals.

How splendid the sunsets are on warm evenings!  
How deep space is! how potent is the heart!  
In bending over you, queen of adored women,  
I thought I breathed the perfume in your blood.  
How splendid the sunsets are on warm evenings!

The night was growing dense like an encircling wall,  
My eyes in the darkness felt the fire of your gaze  
And I drank in your breath, O sweetness, O poison!  
And your feet nestled soft in my brotherly hands.  
The night was growing dense like an encircling wall.

I know the art of evoking happy moments,  
And live again our past, my head laid on your knees,  
For what's the good of seeking your languid beauty  
Elsewhere than in your dear body and gentle heart?   
I know the art of evoking happy moments.

Those vows, those perfumes, those infinite kisses,   
Will they be reborn from a gulf we may not sound,  
As rejuvenated suns rise in the heavens  
After being bathed in the depths of deep seas?  
— O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses!

—

Etienne watched as the night fell over the sky with purple veils. He had returned home in the morning and for the entire day, the house was silent…More so than usually. He knew Remy should be sleeping, his usual habit of treating day as night and vice-versa still unchanged. But still, something different lingered. Maybe it was because Ororo wasn't there anymore. For the time she was living there that house was livelier, warmer, calm yet filled with sound. It was incredible how much difference one person could make… His father used to say "all a house needs to a home is a good woman"; he was probably right…

Just to keep his mind at ease, Etienne decided to knock on his master's door. Make sure he was all right. As he walked up the stairs, Etienne could hear his own footsteps echoing inside the house, the corridors were dark, all candles were already spent and the windows closed…The air around him was cool; and even if he should expect it, since winter was closer and closer, Etienne never expected it to be colder inside than outside the house…

It was like stepping inside a grave…

He knocked softly on the wooden door and waited for an answer…He tried again, and again…for five times, Etienne knocked, receiving no answer. Remy had to be in his room, the young man mused…the horses and the carriage hadn't gone anywhere, and his overcoat was still on the hanger downstairs…For a while the valet contemplated what to do, but finally decided to go against his master's usual orders and let himself in quietly.

Etienne opened the door slowly, inch by inch, trying to be silent. He could see nothing but the slim pale line of light that his own candle projected from behind the door running over the floor. Inside the air was still and heavy, the dark green brocade curtains were closed, keeping all light outside. Carefully he walked over to one window and opened the curtain. The faint glow of an early moon shining in the dusky violet sky shed a pale luminescence on the room.

Looking over to the bed as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he could make out the contours of his master, as he lay prone over disarrayed covers and cushions. Etienne approached to wake him up but, as his hand touched an outstretched arm, he felt something slick. Raising his fingers to his nose he verified it smelled metallic.

Blood.

The blond approached the candle to see clearer what was going on…He saw his master's left arm was covered in thick blood, so dark it looked like ink had been splattered over the skin, leaning in closer he saw that a cut started a few inches bellow the wrist ending about four inches above it; the shattered pieces of a wine bottle lay scattered all over the bed and floor. Remy was unconscious, pale, lying limply on the bed like a rag.

-Master…Are you all right? Sir…what did you do? SIR?!- His mind was so altered by the vision, the young man failed to realize his master's eyes had been open and his face relaxed all the time. Etienne rushed to the door, intent to get a doctor, but Remy´s cool voice stopped him before he left the room.

-Stop fussing around Etienne…

-I'll get a doctor. -The valet turned to see the patron still lying still like a body inside a coffin.

-I don't need a doctor…

-You're badly cut, sir…

-It's just superficial. –Remy sat up, wrapping one of the edges of the bed sheet around his arm to keep his servant from seeing the wound had begun to close.

-But…

-You heard me…I just need some bandages and the bleeding will stop.

-How did this happen?

-I broke a bottle.

Etienne frowned. The cut was razor-straight; no way that was the result of an accident. Moreover, even when heavily drunk, Remy never dropped stuff; actually he could drink an entire night and come back home without as much as stumbling.

-Sir...

-You can go now…

Etienne nodded and left; looking nervously over his shoulder as if expecting to recognize his master but failing to.

—

Remy smirked. Poor Etienne.

He should remember to be more careful and lock the door…or give the young man some extra nights off during the week so he would keep his mind in other things. He looked at his arm, seeing that his skin was clean, not even a trace of the cut left. He was lying when he told Etienne it was superficial. He had carefully followed one of his main arteries with the sharp tip of a glass shard, making sure to open it all the way.

He grinned to himself…

So that was what it felt like? To have your flesh opened, and watch as the blood poured out? It was like that? The pain of having the delicate thread of a pulsing vein being broken and sliced, to feel the conscience leaving the body, the mind floating between the awareness and numbness? Was that what they felt? As he snatched them away from the noisy, luminous empire of life, sending each one of them to the mute kingdom of death, as he embraced them delicately and dishonestly like a cheating lover, praying upon their trust, shattering the glow of existence with one swift and silent move...

That is how it feels like to die?

He wondered what they thought in their last moments. Who did they remember? A lover, a parent, a sibling, a child maybe… Did they even have anyone? Did they even have someone to mourn them, to leave fresh flowers on their shallow graves, someone to miss them…

If they did, they were more fortunate then he was.

He could feel what it was like to die a thousand deaths, his immortal body giving him the chance of partaking of feelings all mortals experiment but once…and yet, he would have wanted to die just one death, one to make it over with, one common, mediocre, human death…he would have wanted it, if only he knew she would cry for him…

—

Mattie looked to the door as she heard Ororo´s light steps coming in. The young woman untied the ribbon of her hat and walked over to where the mambo was sitting, working in her knitting, taking a seat besides her on the couch.

-So?

-Nothing…But I was expecting this…that woman doesn't like me, you should have heard the things she said when I was there to order the dresses…

-So she didn't buy anyone back?

-No…she said no one would buy anything that touched me…I just walked away before I gave in to the temptation of slapping her across the face. I don't think I can get rid of all those clothes, Mattie.

-Then keep them…

-They would probably just rot inside the armoire… Where would I possibly wear them? To go to the grocery store?

-I have an idea…why don't we use the fabrics to do other dresses? Simpler ones, which you can use?

-It would be an awful lot of trouble…

-I'll help you.

-Thank you Mattie… In that case, I should get some new threads and a new scissor. I left mine…there…

-Why don't you take care of that now so we can get started later today?

-All right…I shouldn't take long.

Ororo stepped out and into the morning sun. Winter was steadily approaching, bringing cool breezes and clouds. She could feel it was going to be a rainy one. A good time to stay in, read, chat…A good time to play the piano, or watch the flowers…the flowers of the conservatory would be blooming gorgeously no matter what the weather outside. In the coolest days of autumn, Ororo would go there and enjoy the feeling of being warm and protected, surrounded with fragrances and colors, while the day outside was gray and dull. In rainy nights, Remy would meet her there, and both would talk, or read silently hearing the drops fall over the glass, making watery arabesques all over the smooth surface. She missed that. She missed that Remy. The one she only met inside the glass walls of the conservatory, or in the living room, as she played mellow tunes in the piano. She wondered how could such a kind man act in the way he did sometimes…It was almost as if there were two of him…

She shook those thoughts from her mind, and closed the iron gate that led from Mattie's small garden to the street. The small shop where Mattie usually bought her fabrics and threads was just a block away; so Ororo decided it would be no problem to use one of the back street instead of the main avenue. She had been trying hard to avoid any crowded place. It had been nearly a month and people still gossiped about her and Remy, and looked at her awkwardly. She went down to the back corner and walked away, towards the next street, when a known voice reached her ears:

-Ororo!

Ororo turned to see Etienne coming down the street, with some packages on his hands. She stopped and waited for the young man to meet her.

-Etienne…

-I see you're doing well…

-Yes, I am. Mattie has been like a mother to me. I wish I didn't have to leave her…

-Leave? Why?

-I'm leaving New Orleans soon…

-Why would you do that?

-He asked me to…a condition to set me free…-she muttered somberly.

-Now that's strange. I still don't understand why he put you out…

-Oh, please, you know very well. He discovered I was planning to…

-No, no...I know that part…But, you know…I guess he didn't really mean for you to go…

-Why would say that?

-He…he hasn't been quite well since you left…

-I'm sure it will pass, as soon as he finds something to entertain himself with.

-I don't know…I think it's serious. He has been locked in his room for days now, he's been drinking heavily…absinthe…I think is starting to affect him. He cut himself the other day…

-Cut himself?

-Yes…He broke a bottle and cut himself. Didn't even want me to call a doctor… I'm telling you, Ororo, he's not well…

Ororo frowned; trying to ignore the information the blond young man gave her, forcing herself to ignore Remy´s existence and her concern for him.

-Why are you telling me this?

-I imagined you would want to know…Maybe you could…visit him?

-I doubt that he wants to see me…

-I think he does…He's just too stubborn to admit it. While you were there…he was a happier man. Maybe now that a month is gone by…

-Etienne, I apologize, but…I must go now…Have a good day…-She turned hurriedly, resuming her way.

-To you too…

Etienne was just about to enter another alley that led the opposite direction from the one Ororo had taken, when he glanced one last time over his shoulder. Ororo was standing a few steps away, still. She turned around and asked him:

-Is he really that bad?

-Yes. Like I've never seen before…

-I'll…-She paused and sighed deeply, already regretting what she was about to say- I'll come around…Just to visit him…Tonight.

Etienne smiled and nodded as she walked away with fast steps, almost running.


	10. Chapter 10

**De profundis clamavi**

J'implore ta pitié, Toi, l'unique que j'aime,  
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.  
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,  
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;

Un soleil sans chaleur plane au-dessus six mois,  
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;  
C'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire  
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!

Or il n'est pas d'horreur au monde qui surpasse  
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace  
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;

Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux  
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,  
Tant l'écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!

— _Charles Baudelaire_

**Out of the Depths Have I Cried**

I beg pity of Thee, the only one I love,   
From the depths of the dark pit where my heart has fallen,   
It's a gloomy world with a leaden horizon,   
Where through the night swim horror and blasphemy;

A frigid sun floats overhead six months,  
And the other six months darkness covers the land;  
It's a land more bleak than the polar wastes  
— Neither beasts, nor streams, nor verdure, nor woods!

But no horror in the world can surpass   
The cold cruelty of that glacial sun   
And this vast night which is like old Chaos;

I envy the lot of the lowest animals   
Who are able to sink into a stupid sleep,   
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!

She didn't know why she kept the key to the front house. Remy never asked it back and for some reason she didn't remind him of it. Anyone would say she was planning on coming back...maybe it was true, but Ororo never thought about it... She didn't give it back merely because it was too difficult to give it back. It made the separation too definitive. Ororo would die before admitting it, but she had to recognize the truth at least to herself...

Etienne was out in the stables, and offered to accompany her inside, but she declined. Talking to Remy was something she had to do on her own. She had to at least show him she was confident enough to face him. Now she didn't have any reason to fear him, he didn't have control over her life anymore...now they could really talk face to face. She walked calmly towards the stairs, her heels clicking sharply on the floors. Stepping in front of the door, she twisted the knob; feeling relaxed all of the sudden.

Oddly, she felt at ease in that house, as if she belonged there...Maybe living there for so long had given her some sense of familiarity, she knew every room, every object, the way the light and darkness played over every surface and every walls. It almost felt like home.

She wasn't surprised to see all windows and curtains closed and only a couple of candles lit. Ororo cleared her throat and spoke, trying to locate him in the middle of all that darkness.

-Excuse me?… Mr. Lebeau, are you there?

The rustle of papers called her attention ands she turned to the desk. She saw a slim yet strong hand reached out to a candlestick and the chair turned slightly. Under the ghastly yellow glow of the candle, she could see the lines of Remy´s face; all of the sudden suddenly harden, as if he had had some bad surprise. Straightening up, she quietly closed the door behind her back.

-Good evening, sir…

-Ororo…I thought you were supposed to be far away from here…

-Yes…I was…but I heard you weren't feeling very well…I imagined I should visit…

-Visit? - He chuckled inside his throat. - Just visit and see how I was doing?

She half smiled, shaking her head slightly:

-Yes… Seems odd, I know.

-Seems more than odd, chère…

-Please, don't be sarcastic… I'll understand if you don't want me here, I can just…

- No, don't go…-His voice dropped a note, becoming smoother- I'm sorry…I didn't mean to be rude…-He chuckled once again- It seems I can never bring myself to behave properly with you…

She granted him a half smile, in spite of herself. Remy pointed an armchair close to his desk and she moved over and sat facing him:

-Etienne told me you haven't been feeling well lately…

-Etienne…always an alarmist…

-You do look pale…

-I always did, you made that remark yourself many times…

-Not like this…I hear you haven't been out in public either…

-And since then boredom is a reason for concern?

-Don't be like this…I can see something is wrong…

-You shouldn't do this…

-Do what?

-Act like this…I know you don't have any reason to come here, except of this strange habit you have of being merciful…

-Merciful?

-Oui, chère…I appreciate your intention but I'm just fine…

-I'm not here out of mercy…

-The what other reason could you have…you most certainly never had much affection for me…

-I beg your pardon?

-You couldn't wait to get away from me…I didn't mind it, but coming back is a little inconsiderate of you…

-I never wanted to get away from you! –She let out, without even thinking, just too infuriated by his smugness. He raised a suspicious eyebrow.

-You didn't?

-No…I just…I needed to get away…you don't know what it's like to have no control over your life…I…

-You think I don't know that? I…

-You don't! I…didn't want to live in fear anymore…

-Fear of what?

-You… you made me afraid…I didn't harbor any bad feeling in your regards but…sometimes I just couldn't understand you…sometimes I was just afraid of you…

-You were afraid of me? I thought we were past that…

-It wasn't just that night in the library…It was…everything. I never felt safe around you, it was bad enough to have my life decided by an "owner", to be a property instead of a person, but I…couldn't handle be at the complete mercy of somebody I couldn't understand…I never knew what could happen next…I..

-Ororo…Were you afraid I might…harm you?

-I…don't know…I just didn't know…

Ororo went quiet and looked away from him, dropping her hands to her lap. A strange mixture of sadness and relief filled her. Now she could move on, she had been completely honest with him. She heard as he closed the book that had been open over his desk and got up, but didn't look up until she felt a cool hand touch hers lightly, as if to call her attention. Ororo raised her eyes to meet his dark ones, as he knelt before her, his face unreadable.

-You really think I could do that?

-You gave me reason to…

-I never…you don't understand…

-I never had an opportunity to try to understand…

-Ororo…please, listen…I know what you're thinking, believe me. I'm not an example of correctness, I admit. There are many things wrong with me, many things I can't begin to explain to you, things that I myself have a hard time understanding but… I would never hurt you. Ororo…I care about you, a great deal. When I realized you wanted to be away from me, that you were scared to the point of running away, of getting rid of your sole possessions just so you could leave me…I was devastated….But I complied, because…I could never make you suffer; and if I caused you pain in any way, then the best thing to do was let you go, even if I didn't want to…

-I never meant to do anything behind your back…this isn't like me… you have to understand…you had me in your hands, I couldn't…

-Ororo…You could just have asked me…I'd free you…I would let you stay and work here for a salary, if you wanted…

-Remy…-She mumbled, not even minding the fact that she had just called him by his first name. Remy raised his fingers and laid them lightly over her lips, stopping her from speaking.

-Enough of that. You're here now. That's what matters…Now it comes to mind…That piano downstairs has been awfully quiet lately. It almost missed you more than I did…

(Continues)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

**L'Amour du mensonge**

Quand je te vois passer, ô ma chère indolente,  
Au chant des instruments qui se brise au plafond  
Suspendant ton allure harmonieuse et lente,  
Et promenant l'ennui de ton regard profond;

Quand je contemple, aux feux du gaz qui le colore,  
Ton front pâle, embelli par un morbide attrait,  
Où les torches du soir allument une aurore,  
Et tes yeux attirants comme ceux d'un portrait,

Je me dis: Qu'elle est belle! et bizarrement fraîche!  
Le souvenir massif, royale et lourde tour,  
La couronne, et son coeur, meurtri comme une pêche,  
Est mûr, comme son corps, pour le savant amour.

Es-tu le fruit d'automne aux saveurs souveraines?  
Es-tu vase funèbre attendant quelques pleurs,  
Parfum qui fait rêver aux oasis lointaines,  
Oreiller caressant, ou corbeille de fleurs?

Je sais qu'il est des yeux, des plus mélancoliques,  
Qui ne recèlent point de secrets précieux;  
Beaux écrins sans joyaux, médaillons sans reliques,  
Plus vides, plus profonds que vous-mêmes, ô Cieux!

Mais ne suffit-il pas que tu sois l'apparence,  
Pour réjouir un coeur qui fuit la vérité?  
Qu'importe ta bêtise ou ton indifférence?  
Masque ou décor, salut! J'adore ta beauté.

— _Charles Baudelaire_

**The Love of Lies**

When I see you pass by, my indolent darling,  
To the sound of music that the ceiling deadens,  
Pausing in your slow and harmonious movements,  
Turning here and there the boredom of your gaze;

When I study, in the gaslight which colors it,  
Your pale forehead, embellished with a morbid charm,  
Where the torches of evening kindle a dawn,  
And your eyes alluring as a portrait's,

I say within: "How fair she is! How strangely fresh!"  
Huge, massive memory, royal, heavy tower,  
Crowns her; her heart bruised like a peach  
Is ripe like her body for a skillful lover.

Are you the autumn fruit with sovereign taste?  
A funereal urn awaiting a few tears?  
Perfume that makes one dream of distant oases?  
A caressive pillow, a basket of flowers?

I know that there are eyes, most melancholy ones,  
In which no precious secrets lie hidden;  
Lovely cases without jewels, lockets without relics,  
Emptier and deeper than you are, O Heavens!

But is it not enough that you are a semblance  
To gladden a heart that flees from the truth?  
What matter your obtuseness or your indifference?  
Mask or ornament, hail! I adore your beauty.

—

-I must go…-Ororo turned away from the piano keys and facing Remy who was reading a couple of music sheets, standing besides her seat. He smiled warmly.

-Etienne will take you home.

-Thank you…

-What will you be doing now?

-I thought you wanted me to leave New Orleans-She smirked.

-Are you going to?

-I'm not sure. I thought I might…

-Why don't come back to work here?

She raised an eyebrow, with a puzzled expression on her face. He just chuckled lightly:

-I'm not asking you to live here again…you must be more comfortable at Mattie's. You can just come here to work…you'd have a payment, some money to save… You're a free woman now, you should have the means to support yourself, I would like to be the one to help you with that. Consider it an apology…for everything.

-I don't know…

-Ororo…without you here, what use do I have for that piano and that huge conservatory out there? Besides…where would I find someone else who can put order in the house, care properly for the primroses, play Schumann by heart, read French and understand the subtleties of Voltaire or Rousseau deeply or have a stimulating conversation? Believe me my dear…spending time in this house without you here can be incredibly dull…

-I suppose I could do that…a fresh start of sorts…

—

-Are you sure about that?

Ororo looked up from her book and gave Mattie a calm look:

-Yes…I am…

-Do you think it wise?

-What harm could come of it? If anything goes wrong I can just leave… Besides, I need to work, I can't just depend on you for the rest of my life, can I?

-Is that the real reason?

Ororo laid the book on her lap and drew in a deep breath. Mattie looked away and returned to the knitting she was working on, already knowing that Ororo wouldn't answer her question, at least not as she expected.

-Is it that bad that I decided to come back? Or doesn't he deserve to be trusted?

-I don't even think he can trust himself anymore…

-What is that supposed to mean?

-Nothing, child…Is just…he's been leading a kind of life that…Just promise me one thing, be careful…

-You know I will…

—

It had been two weeks since they had made that "arrangement". For the past fourteen days she came in the afternoon and stayed until nine, when Remy left for his nightly routine of meetings and balls and Etienne would take her home. And every one of those days Remy would be his "good self", the calm, ironic, charming and kind gentleman she had grown so fond of; but Ororo still feared the day "the other one" would show up again… But he never did, and she grew more and more comfortable.

Etienne too had been quite happy to have her back. The young man had a very collected and gentle demeanor, and the fact that the house was once again calm and the atmosphere of a proper home was back made him happy. Etienne had a great affection for his master, Remy, as bizarre as he always acted, never treated him in any way that could make him feel humiliated, rarely raised his voice and never expected him to work more than humanly possible. He knew that was rare, more often than not, men of his stature treated slaves and servants with the same unbearable cruelty. Remy had won his respect, in spite of all the oddities, and Etienne was pleased to see him happy.

Remy was happy; Etienne had no doubt about that. Of course he would put on an aloof façade, make venomous remarks about eminent members of the New Orleans high society and go out at night for drinks and entertainment, but it was clear that now that Ororo was back, that he was happy. He wouldn't spend all nights out, only returning close to morning, he didn't hazard out everyday, but rather ventured to play the piano sometimes to get her to leave her tasks and join him and got anxious if she was late for work or skipped a day for any reason (even though that had happened just once).

Nobody wondered where that was going to lead, even if it seemed obvious. Life was just a comfortable string of days spent in the diligent organization of the house and nights of quiet readings in the conservatory or lively conversations around the piano. Living in the Lebeau household had become an endless autumn afternoon, and nobody thought of what things would be like the day after.

Then winter arrived…

—

-I just can't believe it! Is he out of his mind?

-Such indecency!

Remy looked at the crowded room with the corner of his eye, deciding the view out the window was far more interesting. In fact, the amusement of listening to their idle gossip about his "indecent" relation with a freed slave was fading away and turning into irritation. Ororo should have heard the rumors by now; how couldn't she…they echoed all over town, and according to some even spread to the cities nearby.

A plantation owner with a black woman for a lover wasn't anything worth of notice, and even if that wasn't his case with Ororo, people weren't interested in that. What puzzled people, what caused them to feel outraged was the fact that, by all means, Ororo was the mistress of the Lebeau household. She had been spending more and more time in his house, sleeping over in her old room sometimes, she made all the domestic decisions, she had taken upon herself to hire new servants, enough to keep the entire house sparkling and making sure every room was used, which made the place look nothing like the half-ghost house it was before, she took care of the conservatory herself, and now even the outer garden exploded with flowers of all types and colors. If that wasn't enough, she walked around town in fine dresses, shopping articles for the house as if it was hers, used Remy´s private carriage for everything.

It was one thing to have a negro lover, people said, but to actually treat her as a lawful wife...was just scandalous…

Many a time Remy had surprised Ororo coming into the house in a hurry, apparently upset and irritated…He was almost sure it had to do with the rumors. For some odd reason vicious rumors have a way of troubling people innocent of any fault way more than they troubled those guilty of something. Ororo was a remarkably modest woman, to be the target of malicious gossip must have been mortifying for her. And still she kept on acting like nothing was wrong; if he asked what was wrong she would smile and change the subject…That was precisely what bothered him…He couldn't care less about what people said about him, but to speak of her as a common whore was too much…

Many of the women who spoke of her were notable for having looser moral than the wenches that sold their bodies for a dime, the men that smirked and made remarks about his "improprieties" never lifted a finger to conceal the fact that they had fathered many of the babies born out of the rape of their slaves, and not only that but even came as far as to sell their own flash and blood like cattle…How dare they speak of Ororo?

Ororo should be worshiped, like a living Virgin Mary. The young children of Mattie's neighborhood knew it; many were starting to read under her guidance. Etienne knew that, as she was the only one by his bedside when he caught a fever that kept him from work for three days. Mattie knew that, now that she didn't have to lift a finger to clean the house and always had company on Sundays. Remy, more than anyone else, knew it…

Those fools should be forced to kiss the ground she stepped in…

-Monsieur Lebeau?-The soft voice of the red haired hostess caught his attention. He smiled and nodded hopping she wasn't feeling too talkative.

-Can I count on your presence for New Year's ball?

—

-You're home early…I was just about to leave. Your new coat arrived, I left it in the office. Is there anything else I could help you with? - Ororo told him cheerfully while adjusting her dark pink gloves.

-Actually there is, ma chère…

-What would that be?

-I was invited for the New Year's ball…

Ororo smiled. The New Year's ball at the Dupont household was one of the most talked about events of the New Orleanian high society; all the important people of Louisiana attended. And Remy being the enemy of crowds that he was must have received the invitation as a punishment more than an honor…

-If you need help with your clothes I could pick something and…

-No…Nothing of that…

-Then?

-I suppose that, for such an event, I'll need company…


	12. Chapter 12

Ok, before we begin, I suppose I owe an explanation as to why this chapter took me so long. Technical difficulties I might say...my pc was no longer functioning...at all. I had no way of uploading this(or even finish writing it) without a computer; but now I have a new one, so updates will be more frequent. For those who waited on to this story´s continuation: thank you for the patience

I hope you all enjoy this somewhat short chapter...

**Chapter XII**

Obs.: Unlike with other chapters, the translation featured below isn't the work of William Aggeler, but that of Roy Campbell.

**Avec ses vêtements ondoyants et nacrés**

Avec ses vêtements ondoyants et nacrés,

Même quand elle marche on croirait qu'elle danse,

Comme ces longs serpents que les jongleurs sacrés

Au bout de leurs bâtons agitent en cadence.

Comme le sable morne et l'azur des déserts,

Insensibles tous deux à l'humaine souffrance

Comme les longs réseaux de la houle des mers

Elle se développe avec indifférence.

Ses yeux polis sont faits de minéraux charmants,

Et dans cette nature étrange et symbolique

Où l'ange inviolé se mêle au sphinx antique,

Où tout n'est qu'or, acier, lumière et diamants,

Resplendit à jamais, comme un astre inutile,

La froide majesté de la femme stérile.

-- Charles Baudelaire

**With Waving Opalescence in Her Gown **

With waving opalescence in her gown,

Even when she walks along, you think she's dancing.

Like those long snakes which charmers, while entrancing,

Wave with their wands, in cadence, up and down.

Like the sad sands of deserts and their skies,

By human sufferings untouched and free,

Or like the surfy curtains of the sea,

She flaunts a cold indifference. Her eyes

Are made of charming minerals well-burnished.

Her nature, both by sphinx and angel furnished,

Is old, intact, symbolic, and bizarre:

She seems, made all of gems, steel, light, and gold,

In barrenness, majestic, hard, and cold,

To blaze forever, like a useless star.

-Do you understand how disastrous could this be? Me in the middle of those people?

Remy merely smiled as if he was before a frightened little girl. The mere idea of taking Ororo to a ball was completely alien to her, let alone the most attended party of the city that just happened to take place at the house of the wealthiest family of the state. The very thought was quite insane to himself, but for Ororo, who had never set a foot in any luxurious place other than his house and her own secluded childhood home. Not that she was incapable of it. Ororo was better educated than many daughters of "good families" he knew, and could be even more proper than Remy, with all his years of exhausting etiquette lessons and moved social life. But the truth was, it would never really matter if she spoke fluent French, played Chopin with perfection, or could easily understand the complexities of Aristotle or Shakespeare; to the eyes of all the people outside that house, she would always be "the Negro girl", the "freed slave".

-Are you afraid of them? - Remy asked, knowing the answer already. He could understand her concern, her fear. Yes, fear. Ororo was a brave woman; maybe too brave for her own good, but even the most courageous creature can crumble under the prospect of public humiliation.

-Is not that…not _just_ that…-She told him with pleading eyes- I don't want to be in a place where everyone thinks of me as …some sort of animal…a thing to be sold or bought…

He let out a pained sigh; she had a pretty strong point.

-I see…

-What point are you trying to prove anyway?

-I'm not trying to prove a damn thing, chère…

-So?

-I just want them to see with their own eyes the kind of creature you are. Even if they don't admit out loud, and believe me they won't, they will know you're better than them. I want them to see for themselves that I'm not going to let anybody say whatever behind your back, like you're some worthless woman out of the street … Because you're not that at all…

-Remy…I know that and you know that…there's no need to prove it to anyone else.

- I want to. Let me.

------

Crazy… Just insane…she kept repeating to herself…Crazy him for putting her up to this...crazy of her to accept. Did Remy have that much power over her? Enough to make her say yes to any bizarre request as long as it came accompanied by one of his gallant smiles and some sugar-coated words?

They had battled over it for days. Ororo kept saying no, but he wouldn't let go, wouldn't take no for an answer. She had to be honest with herself, the idea of going to a ball led by Remy´s hands was tantalizing. Facing the world without having to lower her eyes or be told to "remember her place"… it would be pure satisfaction. Ororo wasn't vain, neither did she fantasize about luxury and high society, but she was a proud woman, proud to a fault really. The idea of a well-deserved "payback" was attractive to her; she would be a hypocrite to deny it.

Still…she was afraid. She would have given anything to stay in her little cocoon, her conservatory, her nights at the piano with Remy, the quiet reading in the library. Simple pure things, unlike the balls filled with slave-owners and self-indulgent belles, people that would look at her with disgust in their eyes, that aura of decadence she wasn't used to, and, hopefully, would never be …

The door opened slowly and she heard Mattie´s soft voice.

-Etienne is waiting.

Remy had told her Etienne would pick her up so she could get ready at his house. As much as she tried to convince him she didn't need it, there was no argument. A few days before, Remy had most of her dresses, the ones Mattie and her had not cut apart to make new ones, brought back to his house. That included the ball gowns she had decided to get rid of. Initially Remy had told her he had those made in case he gave a party at his house, so she could be properly dressed to serve. Now there was an occasion to wear them, so he insisted on having them back to be properly washed and ironed. She just went along with it, unable to get the stubborn man to do things her way.

-I'm coming.

-Are you sure you want to do this?-Mattie crossed her arms over her chest, looking at her with motherly concern.

-I'm sure I don't want to…-Ororo smiled- But there was no use arguing.

-Remy has a way of making people do what he wants…Always had…

-I know…

Mattie kissed her forehead and let the young woman walk away, watching as she disappeared inside the carriage.

-------

-This way…

-Etienne...I know the house, remember? - Ororo gently chided the young man as they walked in.

-I do remember that-he smiled- but the master had a bedroom prepared for you to change.

She rolled her eyes and followed. Much to her surprise Etienne didn't lead her to her old bedroom, but instead took her to the third floor…There was a guest room there, joint with Remy´s through a discreet passage that was always locked. Back in his parents' days, whenever the Lebeaus came to town, Jean Luc Lebeau would stay at the room that now belonged to Remy and his wife would use this contiguous room.

Both were equal in size and arquiteture, but very different in décor and style… Even though she had been there just once and with a special permission, Ororo remembered Remy´s room was dark and sumptuous, loaded with deep blues and reds; heavy Louis XIV styled furniture and books. This other room, however, was light, filled with soft blues, magnolias and pale golds, in a very intimate Louis XVI style with feminine and simple lines, ethereal paintings and doll like furniture. As they walked in, Etienne handled her a pair of keys: one for the main door and the other one for the door that led into the connective passage in between rooms, then left.

Laid atop of the canopy bed, Ororo recognized one of the gowns Remy had "confiscated" back: a white satin gown with a slight powder blue sheen to it. She remembered it was simple with no adorns, as it suited a governess. But now it looked "slightly" different. The cleavage had been changed from its originally modest closed style with lace up to the neck, so now it left the shoulders bare. The long sleeves were cut shorter, to expose the arms, and along the rim tiny little crystals had been placed in a such a way as to give the illusion of small dew drops glowing under the light. Ororo smirked…Remy probably had that obnoxious dress maker sew each tiny crystal to the sleek satin until her fingers were a bloody ruin…It was just like him to do so… Besides the gown there was a pair of white-lace, fingerless gloves, closed at the wrists by tiny ivory buttons. On the floor, a pair of doll-like, satin-covered, high-heeled shoes was neatly set besides the bed.

Shaking her head, she proceeded to get ready. After this there was no way she could find a way to convince him to let her out of her promise…She would be going to the ball after all…

-------

Looking at her own reflection at the mirror, her nervousness builds up. There it was…her reflection looking back from the mirror…The dress sparkled like mother-of-pearl under the candlelight, the tiny crystals twinkling like fallen stars. It fit her perfectly, as if it had been sewn on her body, not a stitch was out of place, the fabric wasn´t too tight or too loose anywere. Against her dark complexion the pale white satin with a barely noticeable gelid blue hue came alive, giving her expression a subtle crystal-like glow.

But something wasn't right…

Ororo sat by the vanity table and ran her fingers through the loose locks of her white hair that flowed down her shoulders, wondering what she should do about it. She couldn't very well put on a turban…but the idea of going out in public with her hair exposed was too much…People already called her "mambo" without ever seeing it… She puffed, irritated, trying to figure out what to do…

Suddenly soft knocks called her attention. They didn't come from the main door, but rather from the door that connected the room with Remy´s.

-Yes?

-Can I come in?…- Remy´s voice answered from the other side. She sighed again.

-Sure…

Ororo didn't even turn to Remy as he walk in. She was too embarrassed as it was. Just when she heard the door being shut and his steps approaching she dared look up.

He was ready to leave. All dressed in black, a dark red vest and black double-breasted tailcoat covered an immaculate white linen shirt, complemented by a black satin cravat. His black full-length trousers ended seamlessly in shiny leather boots.His black cloak was neatly folded over his forearm. Leaving the cloak on a nearby armchair, he walked over and stood behind her, looking into her eyes through the mirror.

-I'm afraid it will be a problem if you show up like this…-He said quietly.

She gasped:

-What…why?

-Somebody will certainly try to snatch you away from me…-He chuckled huskily- So you better not leave my side if you want to be safe.

Ororo smiled in spite of herself.

-I'm late…-She murmured, not wanting to tell him about the hair dilemma.

-That's perfectly fine…In fact I'm glad you didn't do your hair yet. -He told her, gathering the thick locks of snowy hair between his hands and uncovering her shoulders, purposely letting his fingers linger over the sensitive skin of the back of her neck.

-And why is that? -She closed her eyes and frowned, suddenly made uneasy by the intimate contact.

Remy removed his hands and looked for something in the inside pocket of his coat. Once he found it, he set it on the vanity table. It was a small dark blue velvet box.

-I thought of bringing someone over to do your hair, but I imagined you'd prefer to do it yourself. Anyway, I suppose these will look perfect.

Ororo picked up the box and popped it open, revealing two pairs of star-shaped hairpins covered in tiny diamonds glowing on the baby blue satin that covered the box inside. Before she could recover from the shock and say anything, he continued:

-I hope you like it. That jewelery box was the only clue I had as to what your taste in jewelry is… I guess these will fit quite right in the collection your father gave you … Now, I'll leave you so you can get ready…Take your time; I'll be downstairs.

-------

It took her a few more minutes to come down, though it had felt like hours to Remy...One thing was imagining her in that dress, another was seeing her in it for brief moment, quite another to see the whole attire, the entire . Jewels and dress would turn her into a queen, he was sure of it; and, like an artist who anticipates the final result of his yet-to-finish- masterpiece, he lost himself in reverie.When he finally heard the rustle of her satin skirts, Remy turned to the stairs, barely managing to link his imagination to the, clearly superior, reality.

If anything, Ororo had managed to turn that piece of garment into something of fable; it was a gorgeous dress, on a hanger...on her; a fairy-tale coming alive. Around her neck a silver necklace, thin as a spider net, adorned with a solitary drop-shaped blue sapphire, sparkled like a snowflake under the moonlight. Her hair was pulled up in the most simple manner; no curls or frills, just greek-like hair-do put together by the hairpins with a few wisps of milky white hair snaking down her long neck. Ororo sparkled, pristine as fresh snow, soft like a nocturnal breeze...

There was no use for words...Remy only held out his hand and led her to the front door, feeling like taking her anywhere she might want to go, give her anything she might want...doing whatever necessary to make sure that hand never let go of his...


	13. Chapter 13

Errata: this chapter´s translation is a work of Lewis Piaget Sh

For all of those who reviewed, put the story in their alarm list and waited for the next chapters: thank you for your patience and a deep apology for the delay. But it was all for a good cause: I started in a new job. So with college, work, and re-adapting my life to do both I had to neglect my fics for a while...But, hopefully, updates will be more frequent from now on...

OBs: This chapter will have two parts. The next should be done by next week.

**À une Madone (1)**

Ex-voto dans le goût espagnol

Je veux bâtir pour toi, Madone, ma maîtresse,  
Un autel souterrain au fond de ma détresse,  
Et creuser dans le coin le plus noir de mon coeur,  
Loin du désir mondain et du regard moqueur,  
Une niche, d'azur et d'or tout émaillée,  
Où tu te dresseras, Statue émerveillée.  
Avec mes Vers polis, treillis d'un pur métal  
Savamment constellé de rimes de cristal  
Je ferai pour ta tête une énorme Couronne;  
Et dans ma Jalousie, ô mortelle Madone  
Je saurai te tailler un Manteau, de façon  
Barbare, roide et lourd, et doublé de soupçon,  
Qui, comme une guérite, enfermera tes charmes,  
Non de Perles brodé, mais de toutes mes Larmes!  
Ta Robe, ce sera mon Désir, frémissant,  
Onduleux, mon Désir qui monte et qui descend,  
Aux pointes se balance, aux vallons se repose,  
Et revêt d'un baiser tout ton corps blanc et rose.  
Je te ferai de mon Respect de beaux Souliers  
De satin, par tes pieds divins humiliés,  
Qui, les emprisonnant dans une molle étreinte  
Comme un moule fidèle en garderont l'empreinte.

**À une Madone(1)**

Ex-voto in Spanish fashion

I'll build for thee, Madonna, mistress mine,  
deep in my crypt of woe a secret shrine;  
— carve in the blackest corner of my heart,  
from worldly lust and mocking eyes apart,  
a niche, with gold and blue enamel blent,  
to hold thy statue filled with wonderment.  
my polished verse, of virgin metal hard  
with crystal rhymes artistically starred,  
shall raise for thee a towering diadem;  
and from my jealousy I'll cut and hem  
a mangle, mortal Lady mine, designed  
as 'twere a sentry-box, stiff, heavy, lined  
with barbs of keen suspicion and with fears,  
embroidered, not with pearls, but all my tears!  
to make thy robe I'll give thee my desire  
that rises, falls and quivers like a fire,  
clings to each summit, rests in each abyss,  
and clothes thy rosy body with a kiss.  
of my respect I'll make thee buskins fine  
of satin, humbled by thy feet divine,  
to prison them in soft embraces warm  
and like a faithful mould to preserve their form.

**Chapter XIII**

(Part I)

As the carriage got closer to the Dupont house, the persisting sense of unreality of the whole situation grew more and more unbearable. Ororo felt completely detached from what happened around her, the sounds of the carriage and the horses´ hoofs on the stone pavement mingled with the dulcet sounds of the music coming from inside the mansion creating what sounded to her ears as one loud cacophony; the shaking of the carriage made her feel like fainting, her nerves were such a wreck she could´t bring herself to utter a word. Like a soulless doll, she just sat there, perfectly still and pristine in her white gown and sparkling jewels, quiet and upright like a mannequin...but what she wouldn't give to open the carriage door and run back home...

Remy had been just as quiet, for the whole time he peeked through the dark curtains that covered the carriage windows, watching the movement. At times he would look back at her silently and a small smile would form on his lips. He was as cool and composed as ever. This was an everyday occurrence for him...a ball, rich people, luxury, mean comments and the unforgiving eyes of the "high society". He knew all of that, he knew how to deal with it...and more than anything, he knew how to overpower it. That was probably why all of them loved him...all of those men and women admired him and wanted him in their midst with the same intensity they hated him. He was what all of them wanted to be but would never be: a man that could not only play by the severe rules of the elite, but who was powerful, intelligent and cold enough to rise above them whenever he pleased. Remy knew that world inside out with all its dirty little secrets. A man like Remy could just point at anybody in any salon and decide their fate...make them or break them.

Probably that was the reason none of these people would ever forgive his supposed liaison with Ororo. The prince of New Orleans, a man loved and feared, admired and envied, desired and hated stepping down to the point of turning his affections to a freed slave. Many didn´t truly believe it. Nobody could phantom such aberration, such degradation. Others relished in the sordidness of it: finding a moral weakness on such an unblemished figure was a personal delight for many. But nobody would ever forgive it.

And today, Remy, with a smile in face, would give them something to talk about.

The carriage stopped, and through the windows Ororo could see the lights of the mansion outside shining brightly as the music got louder and the sounds of voices and laughter reached her ears.

--

-Shall we?- He asked, almost anxious. It had been years since the last time he had felt anything even remotely resembling anxiety.

Ororo inhaled deeply:

-It´s still time to call this off...-She offered shakily.

-I don´t want to...do you?

-I don´t think you would like to know the answer...

-Why all this fear?

-Do you have to ask, Remy?

He chuckled softly and raised a hand, touching her cheek ever so lightly with the back of his fingers. She turned away, half embarrassed by the intimacy of his actions, half bothered by the fact that he was obviously patronizing her.

-Ororo...Look at me.

Reluctantly, she did.

-Listen to me...You know who those people are? And I´m not asking for names or titles. What am asking is you know _who_ they are? I´ll tell who they are. They are people who never earned or deserved a penny from their fortunes, people who never even bothered to get any education beyond what was strictly necessary to show off in this sorry provincial place...All they worry about is the next ball, the next extramarital affair, the next dress or house to be bought... That house my dear is filled with lifeless carcasses...

-And these are the people you want to impress?

-I don´t want to impress them...It´s much too easy, not mention too boring, to impress them...What I want is to show them that no matter how much they have, how much they think they know, how much they think they can, how much power they believe to hold... There´s nothing they can do to hurt you...Simply because you´re better than any of them...the dirt on your shoes is better than all of them combined. You understand me?-Gently he cupped her chin- Now, we´ll walk into that ball and have fun...Think of it as going to the circus...It´s all it is anyway...

--

As the heavy oak doors opened to let them in, Ororo heard someone, a valet probably, announcing "Monsieur Lebeau" and "Mademoiselle Duplessis". Ororo knew she had been christened with her father´s last name, but to hear it aloud and in such formal circumstances made it sound too strange. They stepped in, side by side, his hand firmly holding hers. As much as this made her feel secure, she still didn´t dare to face all the disapproving eyes she knew were staring at them. Then she heard Remy whisper softly:

-Chin up, petite...

The air around them could be cut with a knife...in fact it was so heavy and dense the knife would have to be _really_ sharp. The music in the background did little to disguise the enormous silence that fell on the ballroom. Above the disturbing quietness one single thought rose like a scream above their heads: "scandal".

Lebeau had done it. The ultimate offense. He did it without flinching, without worrying, with a grin in his lips, like it was nothing. He had slapped the entire elite of New Orleans on the face, with the same naturalness he would drink a cup of coffee. And not minding their presence, he walked into that room, his Negro mistress in arm, and laughed at their face.

Ororo let out a small sigh of relief when a dark haired man walked towards them with a smile, and shook Remy´s hand. It was Henry McCoy.

-Well, Remy Lebeau...always daring...-He smiled, his tone more sweet than ironic.

-I dare say your more daring than me...you do realize being the first one to talk to us is social suicide, don´t you?

-As if a have a social life to account for...won´t you introduce me?

-Oh, sure, I´m sorry...This is Mademoiselle Ororo Duplessis, Ororo, this is Henry McCoy...

-I heard a lot about you, Monsieur McCoy...You are a botanist, right?

-Yes, unfortunately for my social standing...-He chuckled.

-Regardless of your social standing, I envy you...I wished I had studied botany...never had the opportunity, though...

-If my good ol´friend Remy doesn´t mind, I could give you some lessons, if you desire so...

Remy just threw his hands up in mock desperation:

-Well go ahead...for the looks of it, I might just go home now and leave her with you, mon ami...

Ororo laughed soflty, feeling relaxed for the first time in taht night.

--

Things were going downhill quickly...They had talked to Henry for half hour and nobody else approached. They were being continualy stared at, scrutinized, silently scolded. The crude remarks could be heard from everywhere in the room; most didn´t even bother to keep their voices down. Remy seemed unaffected by all of it. Ororo just wanted to go back home.

-I need some air...-She whispered.

-Remy, you allow me to scort Mademoiselle Duplessis to the balcony?- It was Henry´s concerned answer. If Remy knew the ever kind McCoy, he was probably going to try and calm her down. He smiled to himself, it was exactly what Ororo needed: somebody other than him to tell her everything would be alright.

-Sure...just don´t take to long, or I could get jealous...

Just as Ororo left on McCoy´s arm, he saw Mademoiselle Dupont approach, a grin in her lips. She had been infatuated with him for a long time, and never made any effort to conceal it. Remy found it particularly vulgar, not to mention quite annoying. Since he couldn´t very well flee, Remy just stood naturaly as she walked towards him. With a vivious grin she commented:

-Quite thoughtful of you...but we already have all the domestic help we need, mon chèr...

-I´m aware of that, my dear Anna...But your parties always need help as far as grace and beauty go...Thoughtful as I am, I figured I should do something...-He gave her his usual grin as he left her mortified where she stood.

--

As she reached the balcony, Ororo drew in a deep breath, the cool night air soothing her soul a bit.

-Feeling better?- Henry asked.

-A little, thank you.

-You´re welcome, dear...

-I really mean, thank you, monsieur McCoy...You have been very kind...

-Just Henry, please...And what´s this nonsense about me being kind?-He smiled - I was merely polite, Mademoiselle...If others are unfamiliar with this kind of common decency, you shouldn´t really be bothered...

-You know this whole situation goes beyond "common decency" or manners...You are being very kind to me, not just polite...

-Well, I wouldn´t do any differently with somebody my friend Remy cares so much about...

-I beg your pardon?

-I hope I´m not too forward, Mademoiselle, but Remy truly cares a lot about you, dare I say... I think he...quite fancies you...

-You think wrong, Henry...

-Really? Well, I´ve known him for...what?...fifteen years, maybe...and never; I say never, I heard him act so fondly towards any woman...Also he never allowed any lady to walk into a ballroom on his arm like he did today...I might be wrong, but my dear ol´ friend seems quite...enamored, so to speak.

Ororo was speechless, dazed. Just as she finally recovered and opened her mouth to answer, Remy´s rich baritone filled the air around them:

-Mind if I interrupt?

-Not at all...if you excuse me- Henry answered softly, leaving them. As soon as the botanist was gone, Remy turned to Ororo, a wide, almost boyish smile in his lips:

-Shall we dance?

(Chapter XIII will continue on the next update...)

Errata: this chapter´s translation is a work of Lewis Piaget Shanks


	14. Chapter 14

First of all: over six months is too long to wait for an update and I know it. Needless to say, I'm really sorry, but real life doesn't always work as we plan. Plus my beta, the lovely Bastet, is going through some professional issues as well, and as her friend I can't ask her to take the time to beta my chapters whenever I feel like.

I can't promise to update as quickly as you (and I) would like, but I can promise you this: I will update and keep this story going to the end. 

To my readers, once again, thank you all for the patience and support.

Now let's get this party (re-)started! 

À une Madone (2)

Si je ne puis, malgré tout mon art diligent

Pour Marchepied tailler une Lune d'argent

Je mettrai le Serpent qui me mord les entrailles

Sous tes talons, afin que tu foules et railles

Reine victorieuse et féconde en rachats

Ce monstre tout gonflé de haine et de crachats.

Tu verras mes Pensers, rangés comme les Cierges

Devant l'autel fleuri de la Reine des Vierges

Etoilant de reflets le plafond peint en bleu,

Te regarder toujours avec des yeux de feu;

Et comme tout en moi te chérit et t'admire,

Tout se fera Benjoin, Encens, Oliban, Myrrhe,

Et sans cesse vers toi, sommet blanc et neigeux,

En Vapeurs montera mon Esprit orageux.

Enfin, pour compléter ton rôle de Marie,

Et pour mêler l'amour avec la barbarie,

Volupté noire! des sept Péchés capitaux,

Bourreau plein de remords, je ferai sept Couteaux

Bien affilés, et comme un jongleur insensible,

Prenant le plus profond de ton amour pour cible,

Je les planterai tous dans ton Coeur pantelant,

Dans ton Coeur sanglotant, dans ton Coeur ruisselant!

— Charles Baudelaire

À une Madone (2)

Then if my art is powerless to cut

thy pedestal, a silver moon, I'll put

beneath thy heel the serpent in my heart

for thee to bruise and mock, because thou art

the queen of my redemption, conquering all,

even that monster spewing hate and gall.

thine altar, like the Virgin's, shall be twined

with flowers, and like tapers all aligned,

my thoughts shall light the niche: from those blue skies,

watching thee always with their fiery eyes;

and since thou holdest all the love within

my heart, as incense, myrrh and benjamin,

in clouds forevermore to thee, its goal,

o snowy peak, shall rise my stormy soul.

And last, to make thee Mary utterly,

commingling love with savage cruelty,

— black joy! — with all the seven capital sins

I'll forge, remorsefully, seven javelins

knife-sharp, and like a juggler nonchalant,

taking thy love as target, I shall plant

deep in thy heart convulsed each deadly dart

— thy panting heart, thy sobbing, streaming heart!

— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)

**Chapter ****XIV**

**(Part II)**

-You are testing your luck...-She whispered.

-How so?

-Haven't´ you had enough rude remarks and disapproving looks for the night?

-I just want to dance with you...is it too much to ask? All these months we know each other and we never danced…not even once. Don't you think this is a real shame?

Ororo sighed deeply. It was like trying to talk sense into a spoiled little boy. She would have to put her foot down.

-Remy, I don´t want to dance. I want to go home. Now. I'm asking you, please.

Coming closer, Remy held both her hands into his and whispered as sweetly as he could:

-What are you so afraid of? Those people out there…or me?

She looked up at his dark eyes, silently begging him to understand…

-It may be a little thing to you, Remy…but for me all of this is mortifying…Can't you understand?

-And can't you understand that all I want is to have you by my side? I don't care about all of this. Do you think I even notice these "rude remarks and disapproving looks" that seem to bother you so? How could I, if all I want to hear is your voice, when all the looks that interest me come from your eyes? I want to dance with you…that's all. Forget about them, their looks, their remarks…let's just dance…

-----------

They stepped into the grand salon. All around there was a multitude of colors, silks, lights, glittering mirrors and sparkly jewels and chandeliers. Ororo walked side by side with Remy, led by his hand, trying her best to ignore that everyone stepped back as she passed by. Probably the attendance was all too surprised that she was actually going to leave the corner she had been intimidated into, and step forward in the dance floor.

Even though the general outcry, truth had to be acknowledged. Even among the mess of crinolines, trompe l´oleils, the flickering lights of thousands of candles and their phantom counterparts reflecting on the polished floors and crystals; the pristine fairy-like of the white dress and hair, the regal poise and serious expression, the very unique demeanor of the "freed slave" was a sight to behold.

As the music restarted, after an all too brief intermezzo, Ororo couldn't help but notice they were the only couple on the floor. She started to feel dizzy, and before she could regain her composure, Remy's left hand was on her waist, his right one gently holding hers. He was close, too close, his breath almost touching her cheek. Even when they were alone he never dared to come this close, and now he was doing it…in public.

Ororo almost couldn't feel the floor beneath her feet as they swirled. Remy led her with calm and patience, a continuous smile gracing his lips. If only they were alone this would be perfect… But she knew all eyes in the room were on her, maybe amazed that she knew how to waltz, maybe just waiting for her to embarrass herself. She could hear their whispers rolling under the melody, like a ghastly basso continuo. The things they must be saying… Her thoughts were cut by Remy's velvety whisper:

-Just as I imagined, you dance wonderfully…

-As best as I can with an entire audience just waiting for me to fall flat on my face- she remarked bitterly.

-Don't worry, chère…I'll catch you if you do…

-----------

With the following musical piece, a few other couples decided to dance as well, but Ororo just had to stop. Her corset was feeling tighter by the minute, the shoes were just about to ruin her feet and she had to sit down. Remy led her to join the small group that reunited around Henry McCoy. They were all men and almost none was from New Orleans, so she wouldn't have to withstand any nagging from the female attendance, which was obviously outraged, as nearly all had defensively grouped together as far away from as possible, whispering among themselves and casting obnoxious looks upon them every two seconds. The men watched them just as carefully, but Remy could see a very different kind of sentiment in those looks. He would be damned if all of those distinguished gentlemen weren't just suffocating in their ties, going mad with envy and desire, each one wishing he was the one taking Ororo home by the end of the ball.

Emma Frost was amused. So a colored woman could cause that much havok? She could easily see how Remy had preferred her over all those little girls from "good families":

-Now, nobody told me Mademoiselle Duplessis was such a fine dancer.-The blonde mused.

-Emma, dear-Anna snickered-Anyone can teach a monkey how to dance…

Madame Frost had to laugh at the childish remark:

-Too bad nobody ever taught you to take defeat gracefully…

-What in the world do you mean?

-Oh, sweetheart, just look at them…Trust me, you lost…every single maiden in New Orleans with hopes to be the next Madame Lebeau did- The blond chuckled, ignoring the brunette's furious stare.

-----------

McCoy's little group was indeed an interesting one. Scott Summers, an abolitionist from New York, Kurt Wagner, German writer vacationing in New Orleans to find inspiration and Piotr Rasputin, Russian up and coming artist, were the most preeminent members of it. And all three were quite smitten with the fact that Ororo was not only a very charming female was quite well capable of going from recent French literature to political issues in one breath. Most the women attending drifted away as soon as any topic more serious than the new spring fashions came about. They had been talking for almost an hour straight, when Wagner asked her to dance.

-If you wouldn't be bothered…-he smiled at Remy.

-As long as you bring her back, mon ami…

As Lebeau watched the duo dance, Scott's amused voice reached his hears:

-I don't know how you go about this around here, but where I came from, if a man finds a young woman like this, it's for keepers…

-You mean what?-Remy answered, mildly annoyed, taking Scott off-guard

-I'm sorry…I just assumed…

-Don't assume anything just yet.

-----------

As they crossed the front door to Remy's house the clock struck two.

-See? - He smiled-You didn't turn into a pumpkin.

She had to laugh. Indeed things went so smoothly, she couldn't quite believe it yet.

-But if looks could kill…

-Ah, chère…don't worry…vicious looks coming from other women are nothing but the crowning of a superior beauty.

She looked away, intent on ignoring his charms.

-I have to change…-She trailed off, turning around and raising her hands to undo her hair. One of the star-shaped sapphire pins came off easily, but the other got tangled in her snowy white curls. Ororo cursed inwardly; Remy just had a way of making her nervous and clumsy.

-Here, let me help you with that…-He offered

-No, it´s not necessary, I..-It was of no use. Remy already had his hands on her hair, his fingers dexterously work on freeing the pin from the mass of silvery waves.

Ororo closed her eyes, working hard on controlling her breath, but it was hard not to pant with such a tight corset and Remy's body so close to hers... So close she could hear her dress rustle against his pants and feel his breath tickle her neck.

It took him a little while to get the pin off her hair, and she wasn't sure he didn't take that long on purpose. But even as she felt her hair free, Remy's hands were still lingering, and roaming gently down, cool fingertips brushing her neck and traveling to her back.

-What are you doing? - She asked, her voice barely audible.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening, her blurry mind tried to tell her.

But the sheer, overwhelming reality of it became clear as she felt his lips gently touch her shoulder. She kept her eyes shut as her spun her around and soft butterfly kisses started to shower onto her collarbone, subtly warm over the cold silver necklace, and up…her neck, her jaw …

Her mouth was covered by his, lips forcing hers open, as his hands roughly brought her close to his chest and she felt the first buttons on the back of her dress pop open…

In spite of herself, Ororo didn't resist…


End file.
